


Running: It's Our Time Now

by FlyByNightGirl



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, It took a long time to establish tho friends, M/M, Post-everything, Sequel, just thankfully not in this fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-14 10:09:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7166876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyByNightGirl/pseuds/FlyByNightGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The awaited sequel for TIMLB. </p><p>Redemption, politics, dancing, mental breaks, learning, fighting, growing, home. Peace. ☆</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running: It's Our Time Now

**Author's Note:**

> So when I finished TIMLB I really _really_ planned to end the story there but :)
> 
> Here I am
> 
> First of all, I'd like to make it very clear. You do not have to read TIMLB to read and understand this sequel. Like, at all. I'm actually hopefully planning to take this story, twist it a little, and maybe publish it someday, which is something I could never do with This Is My Last Breath. But this one, maybe, eventually, might be good enough to stand on its own. (Not that TIMLB wasn't, that will probably forever be my Fucking Masterpiece)
> 
> On that note. To those of you returning, welcome back to hell but I promise the angst percent on this one is like...well, honestly, idk, but it's not at TIMLB level _yet_ , and I have an idea where I'm going with it, but. I just hope you enjoy. 
> 
> **Warnings** : explicit material, dubious consent of drugs, after effects of said drugs, lots of angry tension and discussions
> 
> this story is going to take a lot of turns, I have a lot of places I plan to go with it, and this is just an introduction but if you wanna leave me some words of how you're feelin' I always love you guys for that
> 
> (if you've read TIMLB but haven't read the epilogue, set in Ireland, I recommend reading that first [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3096284/chapters/14513584).)

.::.

“Running away can never mean true peace because you’re always leaving something behind.”

 

The sounds - the wave of noise, stuffed air swirling up like chalk dust, piercing whistles and layers of voices so thick with cheer it could be Christmas in Brooklyn. Smells are said to be the most interwoven with memory (and by god, the smells of this place too) but it was the sounds that made this moment exactly _not_ a memory. Pure cacophony, chaotic layer upon beautiful layer, so many sounds his mind wouldn’t’ve been able to create them all, could barely recreate half, and it was because of that, the soft and the loud and the banging and the parading and the music twining with the laughter and the sharp inhale of fresh air, because of all of that combined, that this moment couldn’t possibly be a memory. 

No, this moment could be nothing but now. 

Exactly, beautifully, perfectly, now. 

But there was one sound that called through all the rest, one sound he'd recognize anywhere that had him turning like Icarus to the sun - but he'd learned, through all this time, his wings were so much stronger than he'd known. 

And with that sound, that voice so familiar it could live in his soul, came the catching hands, the simple slide of fingers on his inner wrist, sparking future-reading lines down his palm and weaving between his own, axiomatic and instinctual, then Bucky was turning to the source of that voice, of the hand holding his in the middle of the bustling, noisy crowd. 

“I got you something,” Steve whispered against his ear, not waiting a single moment to greet him or explain himself before he was lifting a little brown bag tied with ribbon into view, squeezing their entwined hands together as Bucky lifted an eyebrow. 

“I thought you were supposed to be getting vegetables,” Bucky chided and a broad shoulder lifted, smile quirking to one side as he held out the bag for Bucky to take. 

He sighed, affection creeping in over the pretended exasperation and Steve was still smiling as Bucky wiggled his hand free, the metal one on his left wasn't so friendly at opening delicate things on its own. 

Steve shifted his weight, toes tapping impatiently and Bucky paused with the ribbon half off, looking up at that beautiful face that'd gone from being the leading authority on waiting too long to somebody who couldn't wait two damn minutes but really, Bucky didn't mind. 

“You sure you don't want me to open this later?”

“Bucky!” 

“Okay, fine, fine.” Even he couldn't keep the little smile at bay as he unstrung the ribbon the rest of the way, placing it in Steve’s upturned palm and tantalizingly slow, opened up the brown paper bag. 

Nothing looked inherently fragile, so he carefully dumped it upside down, catching the colorful bracelet in his palm. Woven strands, red and blue and gold and green, three little wooden charms woven to the center. A moon and a sun on either sides of a shamrock. 

It took a few seconds before Bucky inhaled, looking up at the impatient face, the bright light in those pretty blue eyes under such long, beautiful lashes, lips rolled in as he bounced on his toes as he waited. “Well?”

“It’s beautiful, Steve.” It came out too quiet, nearly disappeared underneath all the noise and sound around them but if the brilliant, spreading smile on Steve’s face was any indication, he heard him anyways. 

“C’mon, lemme help you put it on.” 

He held out a wrist without protest, quiet as he watched Steve tie the colorful strands just tight enough not to slide off, lips curled up on one side as his thumb pressed to the three dots on the inside of Bucky’s wrist, gaze catching on his again. 

The sharpie drawing - it wasn’t always there, but some mornings he woke up and Steve’d already drawn it and other mornings he was the one handing Steve the sharpie, and neither of them had gotten it tattooed but it might as well be, he saw it everytime he looked down whether Steve’d drawn it recently or not. The bracelet nearly covered it - all but the heartbeat mark - as his arm fell back to his side, peeking out just a touch of black. The wooden charms felt so delicate under shifting metal plates as he thumbed over the little sun, spun the bracelet with his other hand. 

“What happened to splitting up the grocery list, you were on produce,” Bucky chided, metal hand reaching out to shove Steve’s chest petulantly and those swift artist hands swept him up before he could protest anymore, fingers tangling as he laughed brightly, tugged Bucky in to collide against that broad, warm chest. 

“And you were supposed to be getting the meat, although I think you’ve got plenty all on your own…”

“Jesus Christ, Steve, weren’t you just being romantic like three seconds ago?” A raised eyebrow up at the two inches between their matched catching gazes. “Giving me gifts and all that?”

The wide smile spread slow, all that punk kid from Brooklyn showin’ right through the pretty facade. “Oh sweetheart, you know I’ve always been good at givin’ it to you.”

“Steven Rogers! Fifteen minutes, can you possibly stop thinking about sex for _fifteen minutes_.” 

Those bright eyes darkened, crooked smile leaning down close to his ear and dropping half an octave, low and promising, “There’s a hell of a lot we can do inside’a fifteen minutes, Buck.” 

Another hand shoving all that hard muscle, but he barely went an inch and Bucky did his absolute very best to faux-glare up at the twinkling gaze.

“Later.”

A high pitched whine and Steve’s shoulders slumped, eyebrows knit as he gave Bucky his best puppy-dog face, lip pouting in a little pucker and everything. Bucky had to narrow his eyes and take a step backwards in order to not just melt and kiss that precious face. 

“Go,” he insisted, pointing a finger in the vague direction of the crowds by the produce stands. “Apples.” 

“Will you make me apple pie?” Long eyelashes batted and Bucky sighed, melting just a little tiny bit. 

“ _Yes_ , I will, now go.” 

“In the cute apron?” Steve pushed, raising one eyebrow and closing that last step between them again. Bucky rolled his eyes but he couldn’t bring himself to glare again when Steve was that pretty and that close, heart beating just inches away from Bucky’s own. 

“Maybe,” he relented, then he was shoving Steve back _again_ , softer this time and betraying all the fond as he shooed him off with a flick of his wrist. Two steps backwards and it looked like _maybe_ the punk would finally listen to him, then Steve just _had_ to cup his hands around his mouth and be that little shit one more time. 

“With nothing under it?” He called, breaking into this wide, fucking ridiculous smile from when he said some smartass thing as a 20 year old and Bucky’d never hated or loved him more. 

“Oh my _god_. GO. I’ll kick your cute ass, I am _not_ kidding.” 

“Buck, that’s exactly what I’m asking you to do!” All innocence and sweet and beautiful, sparkling something incredible under the warm glow of the sun with arms spread wide as the rays and Bucky shook his head, closing the space between them with that same fond exasperation from forever ago, _you’re a punk_ , only he didn’t pull Steve into a hug this time. 

One hand fisted in that simple white shirt and he was hauling Steve in, kissing that stupid grinning mouth hard, up on his tiptoes to vanquish those last two inches between their height, eyes slipping closed as their lips slid together and one of Steve’s big hands pressed between his shoulderblades, pinning his twin pounding heart to that thick chest. 

Metal curled over Steve’s skin and it took almost all his willpower to shove space between them again, pushing off with a pop and a dizzying rush that almost had him stumbling as he fell back flat-footed, mouth wet as he lethargically blinked up against the gaze staring burning at him, lips parted and sending shivers down Bucky’s spine. So much for not thinking about sex for fifteen minutes. 

“The sooner you come back…” Bucky offered, low, deep and dark and Steve’s blown pupils gave away almost as much as the stuttering inhale, then two hands were squeezing his biceps and Steve was forcing himself to backpedal,

“I’m going, I’m going.” Sharp eyes grazing openly up and down his body and Bucky rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, chest filling as he inhaled and Steve suddenly spun around, practically tearing through the crowd to get to a produce stand and a breathy laugh spilled from his mouth, amazement all tied up in the amusement. 

Sometimes this life they’d built could hardly feel real. It’d taken so long, they’d been through so goddamn much, but. But look at them now. 

Bucky smiled to himself, looking down at the mark ‘round his wrist and thumbing the little wooden moon charm dangling over the three dots. Our last breath, and they were still here. 

The lightness in his step carried him drifting through the shopping, bright smiles at all the vendors and constant glances through the crowd, still smiling as he slowly gathered the week’s groceries (including extra apples because Steve’s favorite food since they'd left America was that damn apple pie and there were certain places he did not mind caving at all) and ran a list of things he was most definitely doing to Steve when they got back to the house. 

The first of which included payback for making him all hot and bothered when they were supposed to be _shopping_ , like _normal people_. Normal people with the best life anyone could ever imagine. 

Bucky thanked another vendor, hoisting a cloth bag over his shoulder and spinning on a heel, scanning the crowd again and soaking in all the beautiful sounds, wondering to himself for what felt like the thousandth time, how they’d possibly landed on such an incredible paradise. 

Only this time, when he turned back around, it wasn’t the beautiful picture of Ireland and dancing and smiles and a perfect life that was staring him in the face. 

 

No, it was the only thing that could shatter it all. 

 

The other two bags dropped to the ground, apples rolling away on the pavement with a loud clatter but Bucky didn’t hear that sound. 

He couldn’t hear a damn thing, the background suddenly muted like one of the movies where everything just went _distant_ and Bucky could feel the world slipping through his fingers in the exact same moment that bag did. 

Couldn’t hear a damn thing, because all he could see was the man standing there before him, hands in pockets and sticking out in the crowd like a sore thumb under the baseball cap and sunglasses, broad tense shoulders and positively still, like a statue, the statue that’d knock them down as easy as Michelangelo’s David could take out Goliath. 

And there went everything they’d ever worked for, rolling away on the pavement with their farmer’s market groceries. 

Bucky’s mouth opened, head rushing, crushed in the silence, and finally the word spilled out of his throat and there was no turning back. 

“Sam.”

 

The world shifted, shifted like a Lens rotation on a Sniper scope and everything slid into the alternate zoomed version of itself and all the muted behind him was nothing when there, in front of him, Sam was taking a step forward, movements he was tracking now when they used to be so familiar, dark sunglasses staring him down like foreign glinting microscopes and Bucky wasn't breathing. 

A dipped head as Sam greeted in return, slow and quiet. Something shattered somewhere, glass breaking from the twisted lens and Bucky stepped forward, sideways, fast, closing all the space between them in a split second’s hush. 

“How did you find him?” He demanded low, rounded on the edges. This wasn't the life he lived anymore, this battle strategy and cutting through diplomacy to the harsh grenade launching point, the only villain with no big bad evil speech and those days felt so far in the past he couldn't fit in these shoes, this happy bustling market right now, his head was about to slip right out from under him. 

Sam was studying him, calculating, maybe seeing exactly how far Bucky’s tense shoulders were from the scarred ones that'd aimed the grenade launcher right at him on that first day they'd met, that battle on the bridge. 

The bridge, which wasn't even The Bridge, and so so long ago and they'd left it all so far behind, cut the ties and jumped the tracks and how had they _found them._

Shifting feet, rim of his baseball cap dipping to cast shadow across his face even further and Bucky used to trust that man with his life and now his life was getting ripped out from under his feet like a rug. 

For a split second, Bucky wondered if Sam would be cruel enough not to tell him, not to confess what's given away the thousands of miles they'd ran, the half decade of years they'd spent in solitude, in beautiful peace. 

But finally, finally, a sigh and Sam’s shoulders squared, looking up at him directly this time, fear superseded by something else for the faintest moment. Concession. 

“The dance studio.”

All the color slipped from glowing cheeks as Bucky paled instantly, ducking his head in a quiet curse. _Sunrise studios._ It wasn't obvious, wasn't anywhere near obvious but the name on the ownership certificate was Sèmus Rogers and if they knew enough Gaelige to know there could only be so many James’s with the last name Rogers who loved dance and the sun something fierce. 

But by god, they must've paid a lot more attention all those years ago than he'd thought. 

Not to mention the small detail that he was supposed to be dead. 

That they'd all _seen_ him die, on national television.

They were supposed to be safe here. Forever. But Sam was standing in front of him and he knew about the studio and Bucky still couldn't breathe, couldn't bring himself to look up either as his hollow voice dropped quiet again and asked, barely over a whisper, 

“How long have you known?” 

You being all of them. The team. If Sam was here, at the very least, Tony knew. Or Natasha. Those were the only two who could've put it all together, and would be smart enough to send Wilson in their place. 

Sam was eyeing him warily underneath the shades, but eventually he answered, slow and cautious as before. “A couple years.”

“A couple—” Sharp inhale as it hit and Bucky closed his eyes for a moment, making himself stay calm when they'd been under this _illusion_ for all this time, he'd really thought they were out, it was over, they were safe and. If Sam and everyone else had known, for this long, and let them be, for this long...he didn't know what to think of that. 

But for whatever reason they didn't come immediately they were here now, which meant something had changed. Meant now, they wanted something. 

His head was still rushing from the sudden burst of oxygen and he forced himself to breathe in again, slower, calming breath that still wasn't enough to not be a gasp. 

Fuck. Risked glancing over to the dark shades again, but he really couldn't read anything off Sam’s shuttered expression. He'd gotten better, since the last time Bucky’d seen him. Which was what, holding a gun on him in the Brooklyn apartment, demanding to know what hospital Steve was in? 

Sam didn't deserve this. Any of this, he didn't sign up for the drama the rest of them created and the last thing Bucky had ever wanted was for Sam to get so good at this deceptive shit of a business that Bucky couldn't read him like an open book anymore. 

“Why now?”

Another hesitating pause and Bucky couldn't decide if he wanted to run as fast as he could in the silence or pull the (only) knife from his belt and press it against the dark skin of that throat, make Sam confess everything right the hell now. 

Instead they both stayed frozen, dancing cautiously around each other with calculating looks and carefully chosen poisonous words. 

“Stark’s in trouble.” Entirely void of emotion and Bucky thankfully had enough of _this_ left in his bone marrow to not let his face twitch the slightest response. Study study and Sam shifted his weight, dropping volume and pitch with one step closer, hands up in silent placating. 

“You know I’d never ask this, we wanted him to have a life, but. He's the only one who can—”

It was that exact moment Steve came up behind him, strong warm arms wrapping automatically around his stomach and Bucky’d been out of the life too long to startle, not when Steve’s arms around him went back before even the long-since-past memories Sam was laying out at his - their, feet.

A warm breath ghosting over his ear as Steve nuzzled the side of his head, tipping him with that strong nose and a smile he could physically feel against his skin,

“How about that pie?” Steve whispered low, lips closing around the shell of his ear in a short wet kiss as the arms around his stomach tightened and it was all happening in slow motion, all that beautiful sunshine running down his body then Steve’s chin was hooking over his shoulder, still smiling wide and beautiful as his eyes finally flicked up, all possessive and sweet around Bucky as that pretty mouth opened automatically,

“Who’s thi—”

And that was the moment it all shattered. 

Steve straightened up so fast he nearly knocked Bucky over, softness hardening with a snap and the sun was gone just like that, metal shield shoved up like a wall - _instant_ defense, and Bucky’d thought they’d been out for long enough but it really couldn’t’ve been because one second Steve was snapping up and the next he was stepping around Bucky to shove him - _hard_ \- behind his shoulder, the exact move from a train so many years ago, red white and blue out in front of them only this time there was nothing but Steve’s pounding chest as Bucky blinked owlishly over his shoulder and Steve took one single step forward, 

Low, menacing, and cautious as hell, 

“Sam.” Bucky inched up behind Steve again, keeping close and wishing fervently he’d found a way to grab Steve and run before they’d ever gotten caught like this but they’d gotten so _comfortable_. 

Sam didn’t even have the chance to greet him back before the dangerous fire was demanding the same exact thing he had, 

“What are you doing here?”

It was heartbreaking, here behind Steve’s tense shoulders, to think that once upon a time, Sam had been the only thing Steve really had. That they’d been best friends, depended on each other, and of all the things Sam had _gotten them through_ , that this was the world they were living in now? 

The world they were being dragged back into. 

He couldn’t...he couldn’t go back to that. 

He’d almost lost Steve in that world, he’d lost himself so many times, and there was a reason they were gone, supposed to be gone forever and. 

And they couldn’t just _drag him back_ \--

What are you doing here. 

“They need our help,” Bucky whispered from behind those broad shoulders and it wasn't funny at all how much he sounded like a ghost, how quick fighting muscle bristled before him but no matter how much Steve tried to, he wasn’t wide enough to shield Bucky from all of this. Not like it mattered, even if he was Bucky wasn’t ever going anywhere without Steve at his side again. 

God. 

What if Sam tried to take Steve away--

Bucky reached forward on instinct, one hand closing over Steve’s hip as tight as he dared, solid curve, warmth under his fingers but no matter how tight he held on it was crashing, everything was crashing down around them. 

All the sounds of safety, sanctuary _gone_. 

The sunshine that was warm and bright three minutes ago was cold and harsh enough to burn like forgotten electric fences and Bucky could crumple with the weight of it all, might just fall to his knees and sink into the earth but Steve was here, tall, and talking to Sam and Bucky couldn’t hear a single thing, just this high-pitched whine--

...this terrible high-pitched whine that was droning everything else out and it was terrifying, absolutely terrifying to stare at moving lips and hear nothing and the edges of his vision were too saturated and the horizon was fogging and suddenly the hand on Steve’s hip was a lot more about staying upright than latching on. 

Eventually two hands were on his face and bright blue was staring at him worriedly, something huffed under worried breath about _glazed over_ and Bucky couldn’t say anything back, could only tip as Steve’s arm slung around his shoulders, tugged him for the side street they'd parked the bike on what felt like years ago now. 

He nearly tripped over a dropped apple and Bucky had the brief moment to wonder how ironic that was, that all this came round full circle to stupid fucking apples again, then the Irish roadside was whipping by them, motorcycle roaring and Bucky buried his face in Steve’s shoulder and didn’t think about anything at all. 

 

The lock on the door made the most dull, resounding thud and Bucky was too busy staring at the blank space between Steve’s shoulderblades to flinch. 

He hadn’t said a single word on the ride home, engine disappearing in the wind, Irish countryside disappearing behind them fast as snow on flames, pinch and up in smoke, an entire lifetime’s promise of serenity and safety drizzling for the sky in the dull gray behind his squeezed shut eyes. 

It wasn’t all that surprising that Steve tried to help him off the bike when they finally curved into the driveway, but Bucky might’ve just come home for the last time and he was about as ready to let Steve baby him through this as he was to give up their pretty little place in Milford. 

Although for one of those things, it looked like he really might not have a choice. 

He didn’t knock the strong hand off his lower back though, let Steve ground him that way as much as he needed, because as determined as the dark line between those eyebrows was, Bucky knew exactly who the hand was for. No matter how wide Bucky’s eyes were, how eerily still and frosted glass he’d gone, Steve was the shaken one. Stubborn pink would never admit, but lucky for him he’d never needed words to understand that pounding heart. 

Finally the front door swung open - for what, the last time? - and the only thing louder than twin pounding hearts were the doggie claws suddenly skidding over wood floors, white gold brown ears flopping as the Goldie-Husky came bounding around the corner, barreling straight into Steve’s legs like she hadn’t seen them both two hours ago on their morning hike to the waterside. 

Could it be just two hours ago? Two hours ago they were walking along the cliffs, laughing at Maggie’s rigorous barking to the morning birdcalls of the blackcaps as they whistled and teetered in the hedges, watching the sun slowly come up over the water. 

All that bounding energy and vibrant barking dissipated nearly as fast as the crash had come, tail wagging slow and slower as Steve stooped, absentmindedly brushing a hand over her soft head and starting right past her, fingers falling from the small of Bucky’s back as Bucky swallowed and watched the distance grow between them and wondered how many of those feet he’d never get back. 

The hand just kept falling, to the pocket he'd shoved Sam’s business card in and Bucky decided he didn’t want to see this, didn’t want to hear that phone call. 

“Maggie! C’mon, girl.” A patting hand and she bounded away from Steve’s solemn heels, nearly crashing into him now and wiggling all over from the attention. Bucky herded her for the other end of the kitchen, following as he pointed a reflective finger, “Sun room.”

She took off and Steve looked up from his phone, and the card, gaze snapping to Bucky’s and they were both so quiet, everything was so quiet but Bucky wasn’t going to be in here for that. He gave his best friend a look he knew the answer to and turned on a heel, followed the happy wagging tail round the corner.

It only made it that much more surreal, how happy Maggie was, this untouchable untaintable creature that’d loved them both from the moment she saw them, didn’t know or care a bit about the piles of skeletons in their closets, didn’t care that both her dads were killers and broken and ruined, she only cared that they pet and fed and cooed at her. 

Now, now that the weight of all those bones had crashed down the closet door and all those skeletons were crawling for their ankles in the shadows of what they’d let themselves forget, Mags was still as untouchable and untaintable as the first day Bucky’d wrapped his metal arm around her and told Steve, _this one_.

It was the same metal fingers weaving through golden and brown patches now, sitting in the middle of the floor of the sun room with all that light bathing over him all Bucky could think about was the clouds that weren’t threatening to drift in front of that sun, no the clouds were going to suck the sun out of its very sky and never let the world be light again. 

Their light was _broken_. Everything was broken now and he should've known there was nowhere they could run that'd be far enough. 

Worse though, than staring at the life they’d made dappled in sunlight, worse than the glimpses of memories from Then, were the sounds. Peaceful quiet and Maggie’s happy breathing interrupted every other heartbeat. The crack in the veil with a sudden raise of volume and he could hear Steve’s hushed voice, the buzz of the phone in the other room as the soft, gentle teasing he’d come to know was suddenly this horrible, furious thing barking and hushing again and growling and threatening and hissing, it didn’t matter he couldn’t make out a single word he could still hear it all and Steve just sounded so _angry_ , more angry than Bucky’d seen him in years and. 

A wet nose bumped his temple and shattered the thoughts free, then Maggie was licking his face and Bucky couldn’t tell if she was licking away tears or just concerned but if he was crying it wasn’t voluntary, because he wasn’t gonna let himself leak and break down, not about this, he couldn’t. 

There were a lot of this he couldn’t do. A hell of a lot more he couldn’t stop. 

A little whimper as he wrapped his arms round that fluffy warm neck but Maggie must not have been the one that made the noise, wiggling closer as he buried his face in long soft hair and held on like that could possibly stop the angry voice piercing the broken peaceful yellow walls of the kitchen. 

He couldn't tell when or how the conversation ended, only that Maggie was wiggling to be free again and the silence had settled in long and heavy enough that Bucky could feel it weighing down the fibers holding together his skin. 

Somehow impossibly heavy bones carried him to the kitchen but that shouldn't've been surprising; if there was anything his cells knew, it was how to gravitate back to Steve’s side. 

The cabinet slammed and he flinched, silent feet rolling for the barstool as Steve’s fists banged around the kitchen and once, so long ago, 

he’d snuck in through Steve’s window from the pitch black streets, purely silent as he watched him move around the kitchen, cutting apples for Bucky before asking if he wanted one because he’d known he’d been there the entire time and Bucky’d been so _terrified_ and _allured_ and 

how different of people they were now, how different their lives were and through all of that, it was still the same two feelings coiling his chest as he drifted to a seat and lifted an inch, watching the sinewed spine between bulky shoulders ripple and tense as a drawer slammed, a faucet shoved on. 

The barstool was just tall enough that his feet couldn’t touch the floor anymore and Bucky wasn’t attached to the earth at all, settling somewhere nine feet above their heads and five years behind them. 

Maggie was whining at Steve’s feet and Bucky listened silently as Steve shushed her - gently, the only gentle he’d been since the door slammed shut - and called her off, pointing in the direction of her bed in the other room. She slinked away obediently while Bucky stared uselessly at the counter beneath his frozen arms. 

Finally the banging stopped, silence settling on his skin the same time blue eyes did. He didn’t have to look up to see them, he could feel Steve’s gaze like burning fingertips. Waiting. Both of them, waiting for the other, for the answer, for the end, for something. 

Only Steve was a hell of a lot more stubborn than him and the counter beneath his arms wasn’t holding him up and gravity was seconds away from releasing him into the blank blank sky and of course he was the one to slip through the cracks first. 

Один, два, тре. 

“When do we leave?” Bucky whispered and the air shattered like the glass between Steve’s palms, the pumping red between his ribs and all the broken sharp edges sliced deep enough to slide like a hacksaw through ice and Steve was swinging around the counter before Bucky had the chance to look up. 

Rough palms on his jaw and the inhale expanding his collapsing chest was cut off by the hard press of lips to his mouth and Bucky slipped right out of his body as Steve kissed him so fierce and protective and sure that his bones could do nothing but melt right into Steve’s hands, soft warm buttery smooth. 

It was the easiest thing in the world to let those strong arms gather him up, pull his body closer and Bucky wasn’t small enough to fold like this against such a broad chest but he did anyway, curling as one palm slipped to the back of his head, holding him steady as the other slid hard up his thigh, heel digging into the denim of his jeans. 

Then Steve was pulling him from the stool, gravity setting him free as his feet flew too high for the cold ground, arm barred behind his shoulders and mouths slipping apart, back together just as fast, twice as desperate as the arm under his knees readjusted, shifting him secure against the pounding heart. 

Bucky let Steve carry him all the way to their bedroom, darkness closing in the moment the door kicked shut but the gasp against soft lips had nothing to do with the black swimming over blue eyes and everything to do with the weight in the air, the palpable waves washing over him as the mattress compressed beneath his spine and he could physically _feel_ how much the hands on him needed, how terrified they were to let go, how much Steve goddamn _loved_ him, this tangible weight he could breathe right in. 

And a palpable thing he could breathe right back out against the smooth skin on that stubborn cheek as Steve laid him out soft and earnest and warm and. 

“Steve--” Bucky started, exhaled against the underside of that sharp jaw and blue eyes lifted, sparkling something awful with held back moisture.

“After,” Steve begged, promised and Bucky nodded, nodded again and god if he understood anything, he understood that. 

He didn’t differentiate every bone in his spine anymore but he could feel them all right now as they arched, curled up desperate here against Steve’s body, metal almost forgetting to be careful as he grabbed shoulders tight and hauled the sunshine into his arms, kissing those fighting lips as hard as he could before the world could split them bloody again. 

Heat radiating up his neck, shoulders, ribs, waist, thighs, hips, chest, Steve's hands all over him the way they were the first time they made out; eager, desperate, overwhelmed but now it was protective, terrified, overwhelmed and Bucky wasn’t gonna make it outta this alive, was he?

Maybe it was his subconscious that had metal suddenly closing around Steve’s wrists, grabbing him tight and Steve froze as instantly as he always had, stilling over Bucky with his brow furrowing in worry but Bucky just used the stillness to hold those shining eyes, read the thudding pulse under his thumbs before reaching up slow, eyes still open as he pressed his mouth back over Steve’s, watched blurrily as Steve’s eyes fell shut, tipping into it to push it deeper, serious and sincere and Bucky’s head hit the mattress again, fingers uncurling as Steve reached up and pushed his shirt up on his chest. 

Then cotton was shoving over his head, just a moment and a half of black and distant but it was more than he could take. 

The briefest seconds he lost while Steve pulled his shirt up over his head were yanked out of him with this terrifying hollow ache left behind and really, as much as he wanted to feel nothing but Steve’s skin against him the hollow was so much worse, the idea of missing just three more seconds. 

The lips against his made a surprised sound when Bucky surged upwards, fingers sinking into the cotton over Steve’s shoulders, digging in deep as his pressing mouth because he just couldn’t lose more when there was a chance this might be the last time they ever--

“Bucky, Bucky, hey,” Steve murmured over his lips, pushing hard on his collarbone to pull back a little, keep himself from being crushed. “M’right here.”

It was a hell of a good thing they were pretty matched in strength, because otherwise all their clothes would’ve never been wrestled off, a huff of a smile on Steve’s mouth as he undid buttons and freed skin around Bucky’s refusal to let go for a single fucking moment. 

But the moment they were stripped it wasn’t just him clinging tight anymore, gold was already purpling black and blue for them both, sunshine dappled with the dark of the night and the number of bruises they’d given each other in bed could never compare to the bruises from the past swings, from the brawls where he’d nearly broken Steve’s cheekbone, when Steve’d nearly broken his jaw, snapped wrists and arms popped out of socket and spines ripped bloody and blue. 

Those bruises were so different from the thumb shaped ones in his hips he was used to, but that was the kind these felt like, tonight.

Their last night in freedom. 

A sharp nip on his bottom lip and Bucky gasped, tipping his head back on an exhale as Steve’s palm ran up his inner thigh, swooping lower and dragging a deep moan from his chest as one of the slicked up fingers circled up against him and smoothly pushed inside. 

The slow dragging tongue slid into his mouth at the same time and fuck that was dizzying, again and again as another finger shifted beside the first. Kissed him roughly into the pillow as he opened Bucky up, the shivers running down his spine making his toes curl and muscles twitch, one knee running up Steve's hip, ribs, side, catching on golden skin. 

The hard press of that pretty mouth drew back as a free hand closed over one of Bucky’s thighs, squeezing flesh and bone as Steve’s wet kisses trailed down the side of his mouth, tongued down his adam’s apple and lit up about every nerve ending he had, a litany of soft moans as his lips parted and eyes squeezed shut. All his senses flew that much brighter as his head tipped sideways on the pillow, another shaking breath at the smooth slide of long fingers inside him again, and again.

Teeth scraped down wet skin as Steve twisted his hand, 180 degrees of heat and friction and Bucky was all but panting now, arm wrapping over Steve’s shoulders as a foot kicked up, heel tugging their bodies closer with a breathy whine and they’d done this enough times Steve didn’t need anything else to get the memo. 

He still couldn’t breathe right as Steve lined up, slick give pressing up against the empty space his fingers had left, big artist hands arching up Bucky’s thighs, fingers curling into muscle as his hips tipped forward and Bucky gasped, rolling down against the thick heat sliding inside his body. 

Breath catching in his throat and his thighs were trembling under Steve’s hands, callused palms holding him steady as brilliant blue eyes fluttered shut and the damp pink lips parted, low moan rumbling from somewhere deep in that golden chest and Bucky’d never seen a goddamn prettier sight in his life. 

The drawback was too quick to register before Steve was sinking into his body again and god, _fuck_ , that was so deep he could feel it in his ribcage, could feel _Steve_ pounding between his ribcage, splitting him open just enough to hurt, really hurt, at the very deepest point. 

Which, he shouldn’t be surprised anymore, was no where near the deepest Steve could go because the next shove knocked him half an inch up on the bed and a pained noise out of his chest, hands scrambling up Steve’s arms to hold onto something strong enough to carry him. 

The punch to his gut came again, and again, harder than Steve probably meant, thighs bruising under callused fingertips as Bucky finally couldn’t hold his breath anymore, head knocking to the side as he broke over a pained, “ah _ahh_.”

All the pain from before, the bloody questioning hands as they laid their hearts out on stone and let them shatter, as they broke the world around them just to crawl beat and bruised back to each other. 

That life was supposed to be _over_. All the goddamn _pain_ they caused. All the fucking fires, the burns he’d never once meant. The wars they started and the explosions that left the entire fucking world in smoke. 

They didn’t do that anymore. How could anyone ask them to go back to that?

They’d been on the run, for five years, then one day out of the blue they’re having a lovely time at the farmers’ market and suddenly the past reared its ugly head and all the sacrifices they made, running away together, became nothing just like that. 

Just like that. 

“Bucky,” Steve called, pulling him back to the surface only nothing was surface with them anymore, they were six feet under and digging deeper for more.

God, so fucking deep. They were in way too fucking deep and it didn’t burn so bad anymore but that didn’t change the fact that he could feel Steve between his ribs as he blinked miraculously dry eyes up at the panting mouth, sweat lining the dark roots of that blonde halo. 

“Buck,” Stevie breathed, repeated, swore into his bones as he pushed and rocked into him again and again and Bucky let lethargic eyes blink slow, slow enough for his entire body to jolt twice, three times before lidded eyes were soaking in bare gold again, the barest hint of a blush down Steve’s chest as it heaved, filling up over and over with the same oxygen he was filling Bucky with, hard and hot shoving deeper in his body again and again and. 

One hand braced on the red scars arching his metallic shoulder, other holding a trembling thigh up and funny, for legs he’d stalked down crushed cars and choked people to death with, Steve always made him so goddamn fucking weak. 

It took a couple more thrusts before he could focus clearly enough to lift the trembling muscle, wrap them tighter around Steve’s hips on a pull out, because lord knows he couldn’t fucking think or move or do anything but whip his head and moan wantonly when Steve was shoving inside him. 

And there he went again, only this time Bucky brought his heels with and caught both sides of that pretty face in his mismatched palms. Hips faltered for just a moment as he dragged Steve down closer, wrapping him up in arms that at least hadn’t given out on him yet. Their bodies shifted to readjust closer and Steve’s panting mouth found his. 

Well, found his chin first, kissing the dimple in it sloppily before damp dragged up light scruff, finally reaching his bottom lip and tugging it between sharp teeth, eyes slipping closed as the rhythm between their hips picked up faster, dragged a whole new angle that wasn’t as deep but sure as hell was sending sparks up his spine. He couldn’t stop the sounds that kept bleeding from his mouth to the wet one sucking on his bottom lip the way they used to close around those red popsicles on Fourth of July. 

The fireworks stringing sparks from his hips up his spine were enough to drive him wild and high into a midnight sky as his bottom lip finally slipped free with a wet puffy sound but before his head could rush him in a tail spin Steve was kissing him hard and serious, driving him right into the mattress with the pin of their overlapped mouths and rushing heads and the quickening beat of two naked bodies entwined moving racing together. 

A tiny nip and Steve’s lips broke free on a gasp, frantic inhale cut off as he nosed Bucky’s head to the side, breathing hard against the sensitive skin behind his ear and if he wasn’t being impaled to the high heavens he’d squirm and whine but Steve was holding him too still, too solid, rocking too hard, too fast. 

He was running straight for the sun and he hadn’t been afraid of burning in its flames for half a decade, he wasn’t going to ever fucking fear that again. If he died this way, by the fire on Steve’s tongue, let him go out in that beautiful ray of heat. 

Hands holding and hearts and hips pounding hard enough to turn him blue, blue as the sky and young, beautiful eyes, marks drawn over his body that’d fade so horrifyingly fast, marks he wished could stay for fucking ever, if only to never forget again what it felt like, to never forget again the mouth that made them. 

Remembering fingers scrambled for the back of Steve’s head, blonde sliding between the silver plates and Bucky’d never been so goddamn grateful in his life for how much he could feel in the arm that’d become so much more than a weapon in these past few years. 

The head beneath his hand dipped, Steve’s forehead pressing against the thudding under his throat, parted lips breathing hard against Bucky’s shallow clavicle bones as he rocked their bodies together faster and faster, all that slow and sure slipping for desperate and _sure_ and what a godawful beautiful combination that was, to fall apart. 

The serenity was shattering palpably, the lost-in-bodies was fading for just lost as Steve dragged them closer to the edge and Bucky couldn’t let him slip away like this, in the raw vulnerability of their naked bodies entwined with all that fear. 

“Steve,” he breathed, barely a sound breaking past his lips, “St- _steve_.”

Bucky carved moons into Steve's shoulderblades with the tips of fingers that still could and held him so goddamn tight the scars lacing his left shoulder throbbed to hell, but that was fucking nothing to the breaking skin and dripping blood hidden inside, internal organs threatening to shatter like the fifth story windows they used to vault from. 

What was left for them now? Five years to five stories and they’d already wasted four on Brooklyn, the war, the years on ice, the year after trying to fight it with dances and stars and the team that was dragging them back from their final try, their final fresh start and. 

God, he’d never hated anything as much as the way the Steve’s speeding, slipping grip felt like a fucking ending. 

They were both so close, to the cliff and the bridge he’d thought they’d burned to ashes but was rising through the white smokey fog to come back and haunt them one more time. 

“Ahh _ahh_ , _Stev-vie_.”

Everything was so bright and fast, desperate lips kissing him over and over, Bucky’s mouth and his neck and his jaw and the crinkle next to his eyes but they were all so sloppy only half landed their targets and Bucky just squeezed his eyes shut and didn’t think about targets at all, holding on as tight as he could without shattering bone and they rock rock rocked together, chests practically flush and sliding with sweat, Steve's head tucked against his neck, burning a hole down his collarbone and through his heart and Bucky just kept holding tight to the back of Steve’s head like he could possibly protect him from everything that’d tried to steal his angel from his arms before. 

The silence between gasps and huffs and broken moans had cut to nothing and Bucky couldn’t remember them ever being this loud without saying anything before, and that was the last thought he had before Steve tugged down on his shoulders and shoved up so hard and fast into his body it rippled between his lungs and his spine curved up off the bed as his head threw back, broken over a sharp cry and the flood of warmth echoing up his stomach, choked and split version of his name, two syllable Bu-uck. 

He was shaking, world shifting light-headed like the painted space between their chests had sucked more out of him than an orgasm should and Steve was shaking too, barely able to keep himself propped on his elbows as the stilled hips shuddered once, twice and Bucky slid his arms from clutching to a proper hold, the way they used to hug before they’d ever landed in bed, and squeezed the sweaty sunshine body tight, forced the strong arms to collapse down and collide dirty chests.

The air all rushed from the room and both their lungs collapsed with it. 

He couldn't breathe. 

Time curled around them as the shadows under the curtains grew longer and Bucky stared up at the ceiling, clutching sweaty skin with creaking metal and counting every single thudding beat of Steve’s heart against his chest. 

He had no idea how long they laid there before Steve’s long artist fingers tapped his shoulder twice, the way they did when they were in the middle of an impossible wrestling match on the garage-gym’s padded floor and Bucky let go of the broad shoulders instantly, lifting his head with a wince to check the state of Steve’s pretty face. 

Except Steve just wiggled free to pull out with a soft sound and that signature empty feeling, but before he could mourn the loss two hands were sliding sincerely over his skin again, too smooth with the sheen of sweat. One of the discarded shirts was close enough to pull over and wipe off their chests, his ass, tossed back aside again without bothering to get up. 

A gentle pull to roll Bucky up on his side and Steve was settling back into Bucky’s arms, weaving their legs and ankles together and collapsing on the pillow beside him, blue blinking softly all tangled up and tainted side by side. 

Bucky swallowed, trying to fight the tight clench in his chest, the gravity of Steve’s skin that his magnetized to and how goddamn weak he was, now. A few sticking strands of long hair had tipped into his eyes, stinging slightly with the drops of sweat tinging his forehead, upper lip, burning the corners of his eyes cause it sure as hell wasn’t any other kind of moisture. 

Before he could reach up and wipe a hand over his face, the rough drag of calluses on his skin beat him to it, content and quiet mouth quirking the slightest, tiny bit to one side as Steve brushed aside the sticking dark strands, curved them gentle past his temple and Bucky’s eyes slipped closed for the briefest moment, just catching his lungs enough to manage the quiet breathy words to scatter back between them.

Inhale, exh--

“So when are we leaving?” 

Bucky’s eyes were closed almost peacefully, if it weren’t for the tightness at the corners, the slightest pained pucker of his mouth. Steve stared openly, eyes blown wide as he searched the sharp angles of that beautiful face, inches between their noses and Bucky just lay quietly, resigned, entirely missing Steve’s stunned expression. 

Steve honestly...had to have heard that wrong. Did Bucky really just...after everything desperate and honest he’d poured into Bucky’s veins barely minutes ago, he was laying there asking Steve when they were _leaving_ like they were planning a latenight trip to the studio instead of jumping back into the war they’d gone through hell to fight their way out of?

“We're not,” he replied just as simply and Bucky’s eyes shot open so fast Steve could see the irises dilate in the fading light. 

Now he was the one searching Steve’s expression, reflective shining crystal flicking back and forth between his own, scanning over his features like he was going to find a lie or a prank in there somewhere and as much as he teased Buck, this was not the fucking time. 

“Why?” The demand was more curious than harsh, like he genuinely didn’t know, and it was the same axiomatic Steve shot right back at him. 

“Why would we?” 

It wasn’t often they were both this surprised at each other, he’d known Buck better than the back of his hand since he was four years old and even after the twisted mess of everything that’d changed since the Brooklyn streets they’d grown up on he still had no idea why the hell Bucky thought he’d drop everything to go back to the country that’d betrayed them both. 

“It's your team--” Bucky argued and Steve nearly snorted because that hadn’t been true for a long fucking time. 

“You're my team. This is our family, Buck. Here. Not them. Not anymore.” His palm pressed a little hard as he ran it up Bucky’s arm, sliding over the top of his shoulder, layers of sweat skin muscle shifting over bones he just wanted to tuck in beside his own. “We’re not going.” 

The crystal narrowed a tad, studying him harder and Steve let his expression be as honest as he could, eyebrows lifting at the center and thumb smoothing fading red marks over Bucky’s chest. Пять, четыре, тре. 

And apparently Bucky saw everything he needed to see. 

“Steve, we can't just pretend this didn't happen.” The long dark hair dislodged as Bucky lifted his head, metal hand curled under, looking down at him like Steve was the one acting crazy. 

“What didn't happen?” he replied stubbornly and Bucky sucked in a sharp breath, chest expanding under Steve’s hand as he propped up seriously on an elbow, shattering what was left of the peace covering the sheets. 

“That they found us. That Ireland isn't our untouched sanctuary anymore. That they know about our _lives_...” short nails ran their way down the back of Steve’s bare arm, fingertips tingling warmth as they wrapped around a tired bicep, “...that these lives, this house, is even ours anymore--”

“You wanna move? We can move.” The bright felt all too familiar, fake as the red white and blue posters used to be as his voice chirped higher, optimistic with a solid arm wrapping around Bucky’s bare waist, pulling him in close enough for their noses to almost touch, but with those crystal eyes locked on his odds were the tinge of desperation was giving him entirely away. “I hear France is nice this time of year. Maybe we can buy a cabin in that one stretch of woods, from that day way back when we threw acorns and I drew you under the trees--”

“Steve. Steve. Stop.” Bucky’s head shook once, an accidental eskimo kiss as crystal filled with all that sincerity and hurt, “We're not running.” 

“Bucky,” he chided but it was too broken on the edge of tears to be anything but a plea. How could Buck even _ask_ this of him? They had so so much to lose now. Words just weren’t cutting through, but the only thing Buck knew better than his voice were his hands. Sliding up the thudding pulse, over the sharp cut line of Bucky’s jaw, fingers touching to his mouth, tracing gently over the pouty lips that were just asking too much this time. God, he couldn’t lose this. _Please._

He looked up at that beautiful face over him and the haunted whisper that fell from his lips was the confession he’d never wanted to be true. “Running’s the only way we've made it this far.” 

Eyebrows knit and Bucky’s expression softened, reaching up to take Steve’s hand from his mouth, fingers knitting together to clutch between their beating hearts as he tipped his head gently, sweet sympathy. 

“No, we've made it this far because we have each other. And that’s not changing.” Quick squeeze of the hands between their chests and the next words were so definitive he could feel the world slipping out from under him with them. “We’re going back to New York. We’re helping your team.”

No. No, Steve wasn’t going to let that happen. 

“Fuck my team!” The sudden outburst startled enough to shoot crystals wide but Steve just shoved upright, level with Bucky now as he shook their entwined hands, begged just a little harder. “You're not _listening_. That past, it doesn't exist anymore.” 

“As much as you want it to be that simple, that team - the one you left behind - they're a hell of a lot more than the pile of deceased files you brushed aside last time.” His jaw dropped open but Bucky kept right on barreling through, ignoring the shocked offense. “You can’t shove the fucking Avengers in a corner the way you did with the deaths of the Commandos. _They_ ’re still here. And they need you.”

“Us. They want _us_ there Bucky, and I'm not gonna ask you to do that. I'm not gonna let you go through all this hell all over again for _me._ ” 

“Then let me do it for me!” The burst back was just the way they’d always been, back to every fight they’d had about anything, from collecting scrap metal to jumping out of airplanes without parachutes. 

“Bucky,” he tried, the same condoling way he’d had when he was a foot and a half shorter, but Buck didn’t shut up the way he used to anymore.

“It's Tony, Steve. Tony. He’s the one who needs us. You know out of everybody I've wronged, he's the only one - alive anyways - that I've never gotten to come to terms with.” 

“They just want to guilt trip you into this! Whatever the hell trouble Stark got himself into this time has got nothing to do with you.”

An aggrieved sigh aimed for the ceiling but Steve really wasn’t being the petulant one this time, Bucky just wasn’t getting it. Even if the rational look he pinned Steve with when he got over being dramatic said the exact opposite. 

“Look, I know we've grown a lot since the last time we dealt with any of this mess face to face but. Can’t I get a chance to repent? For everything I've done? Especially to _Tony_ , the one I almost _killed_ after he trusted me with more than just his life, but with his stupid, impenetrable heart?” 

The look on Bucky’s face was enough to break Steve’s stupid impenetrable heart too. 

“Steve, what about atonement?” 

Atonement. Wrong versus Right. The fight. 

There wasn’t a bone in his body that didn’t mean it as Steve took Bucky’s killer jaw in his hands and held him as close and still and serious as he had to to get it to sink in down to that moonlit core. 

“Listen to me, Buck.” Steady, strong, sure, the words he’d heard so many times before but this time, they weren’t for him. “You have _nothing_ to prove.”

The small sad smile curling up on that pretty face came nowhere near his eyes and dear god, why did this have to happen, all that misery pain and loneliness grew such kindness, the precious expression softening in his touch and Steve was so goddamn in love with that boy. 

He could see it, the history flashing behind crystal, behind the memories they'd built all the way back to the memories that'd built them. 

Bucky’d told him that the fifth time Steve tried to send himself overseas in a battle too big for them both. 

Right, cause you've got nothing to prove. 

Arguably, as much as he meant it to Buck now, it wasn't the best callback because Steve _had_ joined the army. And he had proved himself. Which was exactly the point, all the hell that'd caused.

Prove it.

 _Hit me_.

Wars got them dead. They couldn't afford another round of that again. 

“Please,” Bucky whispered, so soft and sincere and there went the rest of the broken red pieces between Steve’s ribs. “I know you don't want to, sweetheart, but. But the one thing you've got in your blood is fightin’ and you've got a second chance, to fight for them. You gave me my second chance, Stevie, can't you let them do the same?” 

A second chance. 

Bucky deserved that more than anything, more than anyone. Atonement. 

But how could this be what he _wanted_? 

After all these years of peace and safety he wanted to go right back to everything they'd ran from? What if it was a trap, or a bloodbath, or, or, they just got back to Brooklyn and the bridge where he'd asked Bucky to marry him - the same goddamn bridge Bucky’d thrown the same goddamn ring off of - what if one look at the brick arches and sloping wires made Bucky realize Steve wasn't worth all the goddamn hassle in the first place? 

If it were then, maybe he'd pretend he wasn't tearing up but it wasn't, it was now and Steve couldn't do a damn thing to hide the tears welling in his eyes - didn't want to either, with Bucky so close he could probably taste the salt in the air. 

Please, Bucky'd said. For him. 

For him. 

This was Bucky. 

Steve never really had any other choice. 

“What about Maggie?” Steve whispered and he'd never felt so small and broken and scared, which was saying a lot for a kid who used to spend his young asthmatic days getting beaten up in alleys by guys three times his size he could never land a single punch on. 

“We’ll take Mags to Ms. Sherry’s farm in Kildare. She'll love it.” A little smile of hope but Bucky already knew his answer and they both knew it. “She'll be so sad when we get back.” 

“When,” Steve told him and Bucky leaned forward to kiss his mouth. 

“When,” he repeated back and it wasn't a promise because they didn’t promise anymore after all the broken shattered ones from the past that was trudging right back up with the spotlight shined on shadowed years so long ago, so goddamn dark--

but they could do this. He just had to keep looking at those sure, sweet crystal eyes, telling himself over and over. 

They had each other. 

They could do this. All he had to do was breathe. 

“I love you,” Steve whispered over his mouth and Bucky wrapped them both back in each other's arms, squeezing tight and holding on with the silence screaming songs of never letting go until Steve fell right asleep in his arms. 

 

 

It didn’t really sink in when Steve locked the door behind them for the last time. It didn’t even sink in as he handed Maggie’s leash to Ms. Sherry, or the bounding smile she gave them as she chased their car halfway down the road before trotting back to her new temporary home with the same wagging tail she always had. 

It didn’t sink in on the car ride, Steve’s bike locked up in the garage like all the rest of their things. Until they came back. 

If they came back. 

Because as much as he loved it here, as much as Steve loved it here, as much as they’d both embraced the green beauty and the shitty weather and the farms and built something from it, together, from the dance studio to their little family to the _peace_ they’d had stripped from them for so long…

Ireland still wasn’t home. And yes, they were home to each other, they were everything to each other and that was enough, it really was, but. 

There was this word the French had, _dépaysement_. Disorientation, this sense of...the feeling of not being in your home country. 

It’d taken a little while to settle in, but it did. Bucky knew it would. And he knew Steve, and he knew he was feeling it even more than Bucky was. 

So it didn’t really sink in until the tires of the car hit the turn into the airport. 

This was about more than just atonement for him. This was about New York. 

As much as Steve had given up to be with him, he knew exactly how homesick Steve was. Ireland was beautiful and it smelled of Sarah and childhood and it was the closest they could ever have but.

It wasn't New York. It wasn't his red white and blue America. 

Steve may not be Captain America anymore, may not have carried the shield or the uniform for half a decade now, but that didn’t mean blue ran alongside the red in his veins any less. 

Rogers loved that country. God, he loved that country, and Bucky loved him, so really, there was no argument to be had.

Well. Until they got on the plane. 

If it hadn’t sunk in the moment they saw the airplane, the slam of Steve’s car door as they both stepped out onto the pavement and straightened to squint into the Irish wind one last time - in sync as always - it sure as hell sunk in now. 

With the green fading behind them already and the sharp white metal barrel of the plane staring like the challenge they’d had to face too many times, it was the comfort of Steve’s confident stride beside his that he tapped into, that strong head-on attitude that came across as fearless to so many but was nothing but heart from where Bucky got to see it, which was always right by Steve’s side. 

He followed silent feet up the white extended steps waiting for them, taking a quick glance around the plane and kinda surprised not to see the words _Stark Industries_ branded all over everything. What exactly kind of trouble was Tony in that he wasn’t sending them his private plane? Unless he’d, y’know, crashed it again. 

The other thing missing from this plane? A single fucking face he knew. Sam wasn’t here, which was a little surprising considering he’d been in Ireland just yesterday and it’d make more sense to brief them on the ride over. It was a pretty long flight from Ireland to New York. So why the hell wouldn’t Sam ride over with them? Or Natasha? Or somebody else from the team? Even a recognizable SHIELD agent would be nice. Or, hell, just a video chat setup with Maria Hill. 

But there wasn’t anything, not even a TV screen in sight and this was just about the weirdest pre-mission flight he’d ever seen. 

There was a gaggle of black-geared agents of some sort in the back of the plane, huddled up with a...strangely large amount of tactical gear. 

Steve shot him a confused glance and Bucky shrugged back, eyebrows knit as they stepped further into the belly of the beast, a glance for the cabin before Bucky finally leaned over Steve’s shoulder and opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on, and where the hell their briefing staff was, when one of the geared soldiers finally turned around and it suddenly all made a whole lot of sense. 

“What the hell is that?” Steve demanded and Bucky blinked, taking in the size of the needle and the helmet of the guy holding it gingerly. 

“Steve,” Bucky warned lowly, one hand holding steady to Steve’s lower back just in case he decided to go all rage on the poor, misinformed agent. 

Because see, the extraction team on this plane must have been told they’d be taking Captain America and the Winter Soldier overseas from their home in Ireland back to the hostile New York. 

What someone must have forgotten to mention was that neither of them were Captain America or the Winter Soldier anymore. 

“Look, I know you guys have your precautions,” Bucky started, but he didn’t get one more word out before one of the agents spoke over him. 

“We have our orders,” she corrected and Steve bristled at the four words like Bucky hadn’t seen in years and he pressed his fingers harder into Steve’s spine. 

“From who?” Steve bit and at least half the tactical huddle flinched.

“From the leaders of the Avengers Initiative. Barnes is to be tranquilized. Direct orders from Hill, Wilson, Barton, Romanoff, Ban--”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it.” Bucky waved his free hand and it just so happened to be the metal one, which meant that the rest of the tactical huddle not only flinched, but reached for the weapons on their belts. Really? _Really?_ That’s how this was gonna be? 

See, if it was just him, everything would roll smoothly and be just fine because he’d dealt with shit like this for years while Steve slept peacefully in the ice, he knew exactly how to work with people who were terrified to death of him. 

But unfortunately, Steve was here too, and he saw the tactical team flinch the exact same time Bucky did and it was _Steve_ , he didn’t know how _not_ to react. 

They were all just lucky the explosion wasn’t aimed at anybody in particular. Just...everything. 

“ _Fuck_ no. No, we’re _not_ doing this.” And just like that Steve was backing into him, stepping on Bucky’s foot in the process and not giving a damn, pushing them both violently backwards for the plane’s only door. 

“It’s for Sergeant Barnes’ safety as much as everyone’s on this plane,” the agent in charge said sternly and the incredulous look on Steve’s face said that backfired about as much as anything she said fucking could. 

“Bucky we’re leaving.” Steve kept backing up and Bucky shouldered to the side, letting Steve slide past him but Steve was too livid to even notice, just reaching for Bucky’s hand as he glared over him with the kind of lasers that could cut through sheetmetal. “Right fucking now.” 

Well. It was now or never. 

Four guns went up as he took the step closer, but they weren’t half as fast as he was and Bucky had the tranquilizer needle in his hand before any of them could blink. 

Steve didn’t even see, in the flash of a second it took for Bucky to whirl and jam it right into that pretty neck, an inch above the collar Bucky’d straightened out himself this morning. 

Blue eyes went wide but Bucky took that sharp jaw and held Steve’s gaze to his own before that stubborn mouth could open and spoil everything even further. 

“Listen, babe, I’m so sorry, but we’re doing this. You and me, we’re doing this. You can kick my ass for that later, okay?” A gentle thumb over Steve’s cheek and the blue unfocused, pieces of sky flashing dark and back to his for a moment as the soft pink mouth opened in slurred offense,

“Fuck yeah I will…” he murmured, the hand on Bucky’s shoulder pressing harder as his legs started to give out, long long eyelashes fluttering over his cheeks. He stepped up just in time to catch Steve against his chest, blue slipping closed as he carefully pulled the needle back out of Steve’s neck, tips of the spiked blonde brushing his neck as Steve’s head lolled on his shoulder, entirely collapsed. 

One arm wrapped around Steve’s shoulders to keep him secure, Bucky turned as much as he could, peering back over his shoulder at all the wide-eyed agents standing in silence behind them. At least the guns weren’t pointed at him anymore, although they hadn’t put them back in their holsters either. 

“Where’s the second syringe?”

“Second…” somebody trailed, faking confusion and Bucky didn’t bother repeating the question, lifting one unimpressed eyebrow and pinning all seven agents with an unmistakable look. 

And just like that, someone was fearfully holding out the other one. Yeah, he knew how this game worked. Apparently, a hell of a lot better than they did. 

“Next time, let me handle it. As much as you’d all like to label this, I think you've got the files on the Dangerous one and the Passive one switched.” A tight grimace as he carefully slid the needle into his arm, injecting it quickly into his veins. Fuck, it’d been awhile since he’d been on drugs and that was. Not a fun feeling. 

But hey, at least Steve was here this time. That always meant he’d find a way back, right? 

The plane tipped sideways and Bucky stumbled to one side, kinda falling against one of the seats. Wow, that spun a lot more than he thought it would. Pretty damn quick working too, science like that did not come easy. Or cheap. Must’ve been Tony’s concoction, then. 

Vision fogged at the edges and Bucky sunk against cushions that kept sinking forever, dragging Steve down with him and pulling the soft blonde head protectively against his chest, legs tangled up but safe, safe, warm, and that was the last thing he had the chance to think before everything went black. 

 

The first thing he noticed when his clumped eyelashes pried apart far enough to blink awake was the fact that he couldn’t really breathe. That, and that Steve somehow still smelled really good after an eleven hour flight they’d both been drugged and passed out for. 

Fuck, his head hurt. 

He knew there’d be downsides to sticking them both with whatever unidentified substance was in those needles, specifically for the choice to knock Steve out first. Because that meant Steve woke up first. 

Which at least explained why he couldn’t breathe. 

As lovely as Steve’s pectoral muscles were, even through the shirt and jacket he was wearing, Bucky had to say, being crushed by those body-builder arms with his face against Steve’s chest didn’t leave a lot of room for air. 

“Mmhng,” he groaned, shoving a prodding metal finger in Steve’s side. The hand on the back of his head let go instantly and Bucky gasped in fresh air, turning his head to the side which was _significantly_ more comfortable, the pounding heart against his ear just about matching the pounding in his heavy brain. 

“Jesus, smother a guy to death in his sleep, ‘sa new low, Rogers,” Bucky breathed, eyes squeezed tight against the spinning dizziness as wherever they were now suddenly jolted. “Though I spose it’s not all that new, you’re fuckin’ _clingy_ in thunderstorms. Which, considering we live in Ireland, is basically every night.” 

The chest expanding under his temple was heaving and the arm around his shoulders was still squeezing him half to death, other five fingers splayed on the back of his neck protectively and he still hadn’t said anything so Bucky just kept mumble-rambling, slowly letting his head balance back enough to figure out the hell was going on. 

“Maybe you’re just like. A koala anyways, I know I blame the storms but frankly even when you were a kid--” 

Another jolt that almost jarred his jaw and Bucky snapped his mouth shut, trying to soak in any sensory input that wasn’t Steve. Tires, an engine, sounded like an SUV and based on the fact that he was in Steve’s lap he was gonna say they were definitely shoved in the back seat. 

The arms wrapped protectively around him weren’t budging a fucking inch and Bucky finally swallowed enough of the dizziness to lift his head off Steve’s chest, peer up at the pretty face. 

The pretty bitch face, that was currently glaring over Bucky’s back at what must have been the entire fucking world, based on the intensity, or if he was going by the logic of them being shoved in the back of a SHIELD vehicle, was probably just the squad driving them to the next mystery location. 

“Sweetheart,” Bucky murmured, wiggling his metal shoulder free enough to slide a palm up Steve’s chest, press a hand over his heart as he blinked groggily up at the blue eyes that finally finally, cut down to his. A quick inhale because sometimes the intensity of the blue still got to him after all these years and Bucky managed to wrangle up an attempt at soothing on the exhale. “Baby, calm down.” 

A huff as he looked back away and Steve’s arms around him circled even _tighter_ which shouldn’t’ve been possible and based on the choked sound outta his throat, hopefully Steve would get really _wasn’t_ possible. 

The hands were curled tight enough on his skin that Bucky could feel them trying to snap into fists and wow, okay, Steve was really fucking pissed. Like, really, _really_ mad. 

“I can’t believe they did this to you,” he finally grit, barely above a whisper as he kept glaring at the apparent foes that Bucky still hadn’t gotten the chance to turn around and see yet. “How could Stark, how could _Sam_ , god knows what the drugs could’ve triggered, or if you’d even woken up and--”

“Shhh,” Bucky comforted, patting the hand on Steve’s heart consolingly and wishing the drugs would get out of his system already so he could care for his boy properly. “I did it to myself, Stevie.” 

Blue cut down to his again and Bucky offered a slightly apologetic eyebrow raise at the peeved expression. 

“I'm still gonna kick your ass for poking me with that needle,” Steve informed him seriously and Bucky couldn’t help but smile, blinking slow at that pretty face for another moment before he gave into the pounding and tucked his face back down in Steve’s neck, where it was warm and dark and safe and he could hear Steve’s heartbeat again and. 

“I love you,” Bucky murmured into the heated skin and the heartbeat under his lips jumped so quick crystal eyes blinked right back open. A pause, soaking in how very still Steve had just gone and Bucky rolled his head on a broad shoulder, peering up at the pretty face that’d shut down entirely. 

Blue eyes squeezed shut, tight swallow as Steve’s lips pinched in a careful o, forcing himself to breathe slow in and out, counting his breaths and Bucky narrowed his eyes a little analyze deeper. Steve almost looked...shocked, by the words and to be fair Bucky didn't say them that often, not like Steve did, not with those three words in succession like that but it'd been five years he'd still been saying it enough Steve shouldn't be that surprised. 

What, did he think just because they were back on American soil Bucky wouldn't mean it anymore? He'd loved Steve on American soil almost their entire lives. 

He lifted his head off Steve’s collarbone, mouth tipping open to scold something, drag his sunshine back into the light but before he could the arm around his back suddenly stopped squeezing and blue eyes were blinking into his again, careful hands shifting Bucky off his lap onto the seat beside him. 

One more steadying breath and Steve had calmed himself down enough to offer Bucky the smallest of sad smiles, touch shifting to weave their fingers together and Bucky gave him about ten seconds before he winced and wiggled his hand free, exchanging it quickly for the metal one because if Steve was gonna hold his hand that tight and not break something, better Bucky have to reach across his lap with the metal and let Steve squeeze him as tight as he needed to. 

The SUV jolted for the third time and he risked a quick glance around, taking in the manpower up front, the matching black tinted-window cars flanking their sides and front before he looked away from the windows and back to the sharp, clicking jaw staring down at their entwined fingers. 

He could whisper more quiet things to calm his boy down, but Steve seemed to be doing a pretty decent job of that himself and they’d never needed words anyways. 

Bucky tipped his head on Steve’s shoulder and Steve’s free hand slid around the inside of his thigh, holding Bucky close and they both fell into silence, wait settling in as he breathed in Steve’s proximity and counted in aborted Russian numbers before the car finally rolled to a stop. 

A blaring horn in traffic, black doors slamming on their escort cars and just like that Steve was bristling up again, but honestly, it was kinda fair in their current situation and if his head hurt anything like Bucky’s did, it was more than fair. 

He still nudged Steve with his elbow as they both straightened, taking in the limited view from the windows and that unmistakable sound of the city that never slept waiting beneath their feet. 

“Cool down papa, don't you blow your top,” Bucky sang under his breath and Steve smiled, just a little, involuntary and amused and then the door was opening, electric lights pulverizing as Steve shot him one last look over his shoulder and climbed out first. Bucky ducked out of the car after him, boots onto unforgiving pavement. 

The two of them, stepping onto New York streets again, and Bucky had no idea what the hell any of this was gonna mean, but Steve was at his side, squinting into the sun reflecting off skyscrapers and shooting him that glance he’d given over a dozen battlefields. 

Welcome back to the Red White and Blue. 

But hey, they made it through once, what was one more round in the ring, right? His head was still pounding from the drugs wearing off and he could most definitely use the comfort of Steve’s hand in his right now, but Blondie was already starting up the steps, broad shoulders carrying his head high and if Steve was feeling fine, no use mentioning it.

Heads high and pounding was kinda the way it’d always been for them in this place anyways. 

This place, that somehow looked the exact same and entirely different after five years apart. Was it always this fucking tall? That much glass? Were there always doormen? He was pretty sure there didn’t used to be doormen. Or that much security. That was probably for them, though. 

The tiles were so slick and white and clean, engraved with memory underfoot Bucky couldn’t help but trace back to the day he and Steve had come down here, racing in their socks across the giant fancy space and laughing as they slid into everything until Tony came down to scold them and Steve convinced him to kick off his shoes and join them. 

Then Pepper came down, smile on her face and a scolding on her tongue, something about not signing up to take care of two more children when she already had Tony on full payroll and Stark had slid right up to her to dip her in a kiss while Bucky’d laughed, then Steve collided with him to do the same only a lot faster with a lot less coordination and they ended up kissing and laughing tangled on the floor and. 

The last time Bucky’d been here, Pepper’d been standing cold and frigid, arms crossed over her chest as she told him he’d never be forgiven, and to never to come back. 

Well. Here he was, back, but. He highly doubted he was forgiven. 

“This way, sir,” a suit was telling them and Bucky snapped out of it, following after Steve and the shifty, nervous guide. One sweeping hand gestured for the elevator as the woman took a step backwards, security team following their every movements. 

“We’ve got it from here,” Bucky told her and she pressed a finger over the comm in her ear before jamming the button on the elevator, and high-tailing it as fast as clicking heels could take her away from them. 

Bucky shook his head, shooting Steve a look as the elevator doors slid open but Steve was staring straight ahead, stepping inside numb and perfectly quiet. A step to follow and the door slid shut behind them, little jolt and they were shooting upwards, not half as fast as Bucky remembered the souped up elevator to be. 

Another glance to his left and Steve was fiddling with the zipper on the bottom of his jacket, straightening out the material uselessly with those pretty blue eyes still averted. 

Bucky watched him for a moment before flicking up to the numbers slowly turning as the elevator climbed up to that near-top floor. Even just this elevator alone, so much had happened in just this _elevator_. And if Steve was already that quiet?

“You ready?” Bucky asked quietly, watching Steve’s gaze lift, blue staring right ahead at the shiny metal doors. 

“To go back to the front lines? Gee, I haven't missed being suffocated, or drowning, one bit.” The lilt of Steve’s voice was that same deadpanned sass that hadn’t changed in all these years and Bucky cocked an eyebrow, studying his best friend as those wide shoulders rolled, stood a little taller, chin a little higher. 

The gap between them didn’t feel like much of a gap at all, even if his stomach was a kinda queasy and the whirring plates of his metal arm wouldn’t shut up and stop adjusting. But the floors didn’t stop climbing up, five away, then two, and Steve’s eyebrows were knit as he stared down the damn elevator doors like they were going to fight him themselves. 

Bucky couldn’t help but shake his head fondly, reaching across the miles to clap a solid hand on Steve’s shoulder, shaking him sideways with the touch. 

“You always were so dramatic.” 

Then the elevator dinged, exact same ring as it was back then, and Steve sucked in a solid breath, gaze locking on Bucky’s for one steady, single moment. A step out onto the floor and Bucky followed Steve right into battle again. 

Only this time, they were side by side. They could do this. They were strong enough to do this. Powerful enough. 

He hadn't taught Steve how to walk like the Winter Soldier, but the kid had just enough intimidation in his step to pull it off pretty damn well. What a picture the two of them had to make, connected by invisible tether as they walked in perfect sync, every stalking step lined up and they didn’t have to be touching each other to carry the other anyways. 

The hallway was just pure anticipation and Steve was upset enough Bucky could feel it from here, but he had a lid on it that Bucky could always screw off later, so he wasn’t too worried. 

At least. Until they rounded the corner onto the floor where three lifetimes ago Bucky held a gun to his own head and they knocked over Tony’s barstools, wrestled on the floor after Risk and chess and Steve cut apples to feed him over the sound of their boom box and Bucky stole Sam’s precious orange juice while Tony crowed advice and love songs through the robots in the walls and. 

There was the team. The Avengers, standing in a semicircle and looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows, the best view of the city in perfect silence but the elevator doors finally slid shut with a ding half a hallway behind them and the reverie broke like that mirror had the first time Bucky’d put his fist through it. 

Five pairs of eyes shot straight across the room - sharp as the arrow Barton’d aimed for his head the first time they met - five very different shoulders spinning around to face them and Steve’d kept it entirely together until this moment but his gaze locked with those across the room and one of those strong steps faltered. 

Bucky’s hand found his lower back, just a comforting tap, secure safety and proud reminder, the way Steve had in their second lifetime together, when they’d marched back to the army base camp in 1943, barely-freed Prisoner of War and there was Steve, proud and steadying and. 

Here fucking goes. 

Two pounding hearts and matching feet strolled to a quiet stop together, all the wasted time settling in around their ankles and it took a hell of a lot more than it should’ve to draw the breath back into his lungs as his hand fell away from Steve’s spine.

“Rogers,” Sam greeted solemnly, looking so weirdly in place here when he’d been nothing but a screaming protrusion in the middle of the Irish farmer’s market where he’d ripped their lives apart at the seams. 

The shoulders beside his bristled automatically and Bucky mentally sent as many _chill chill chill_ vibes in Steve’s direction as possible. 

“Steve,” Clint greeted, easier than Sam’s and Bucky tipped his head in recognition, meeting the steel gaze and wondering what the hell this could possibly fucking be about.

“It's been awhile,” Natasha offered, guard up in those pretty greens that Bucky’d grown so close to in those four months he’d lived that atrocious lie of a life. He wondered distantly if Nat had ever meant that friendship, the one where she’d spied on him after convincing him to wipe away every memory he ever had of Steve, in some twisted plan to save them both. Or maybe just to save Steve, which either way. 

He understood. The intentions, anyways. 

Natasha looked like an entirely different person now, than the college girl and badass assassin of his memories. There was a maturity in the way she stood, strangely soft with the hair that used to be fire-engine-red now a pretty auburn brown, long and flowing over the shoulders of the white suede jacket she was wearing. So much for all the black leather and red lipstick. 

_It’s been a while_. Five years. They’d been here less than five minutes and already, he could tell there was…a hell of a lot they’d missed. Precarious, hearts strung high and. 

“Was the trip comfortable?”

There it was. 

Steve snapped. Hands curling as he took a single step forward, the pissed rolling off strong enough Bucky could feel it again, same way he could tell that the only person here who wasn’t nervous was Clint. He was eyeing them with open distrust but there was nothing hidden under that, no latent fear - which was funny, because of everyone, it was Barton who’d probably had it the worst, between the time Bucky shot him in the stomach and blew him up with a bomb he’d jumped out of a ten-story window to avoid. 

But Steve's mouth was open and about to fling them both out those windows and six feet under with those fighting words on his tongue so Bucky did what he'd always done and yanked Steve right out of the fight. 

The non-metal fingers were thankfully strong as the metal ones, strong enough to pry open the fist at Steve’s side and he was too worked up to stop Bucky from taking his hand. 

It wasn’t for comfort this time, Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand and tugged, jolting him backwards a step like a dog on a leash and what a pair they were now - if the wide eyes on half the Avengers were any indication, it was becoming increasingly clear exactly how dangerous, _pissed_ their old Captain was right now. 

“The flight was fine. Have accommodations already been made or do we need to find a hotel?” Bucky kept his voice calm, methodical, the mundane discussion that usually followed discussions of flights (that usually weren’t drugged, but what could one do). But even with the chill exterior it was nowhere near that terrifying cold of the Winter Soldier they clearly had been expecting to show. 

“The tenth floor of the tower is still yours,” Bruce piped up and Bucky kindly ignored the yours, pretended _available_ or _open_ for his sake and gave the tightest smile he could manage. 

“Good to know. Are we briefing now or do we have time to freshen up from the flight?” The growl in Steve’s throat was barely audible from here, so there was no way in hell anyone else heard it but Bucky squeezed his hand anyways. Steve was still pretty pissed they’d drugged them for the flight over. 

Well, he supposed Steve never had really had drugs shoved in his body without his consent. Not counting the time Tony drugged the water supply to their apartment to get them to chill the fuck out but. That hadn’t worked, and he was pretty sure Steve still didn’t actually know about that.

It was a long time ago, no point in drudging it up now. Especially when Steve was this goddamn upset.

“It's not time sensitive,” someone said but Bucky was too focused on Steve to take note of who, although he didn’t miss the blue eyes shooting a mildly distrustful glance at Sam. To be fair, he made it sound very time sensitive. 

Tony Stark wasn’t here, which was to be expected if they were helping him, but. Pepper wasn’t here either. Or Rhodey. Just Sam, Natasha, Clint, Bruce, and Maria....what the hell. 

Frankly, Bucky had no idea what kind of mission important enough to bring them in from fucking _Ireland_ wouldn't be time sensitive. But he wasn’t gonna look a gift horse in the mouth, the team said they could go freshen up, if he got the chance to pull Steve somewhere private and calm his husband the fuck down, he was gonna leap on that. 

“Thanks. Is there anything else?”

...there was everything else but no one said anything so Bucky offered a slightly closer to that charmer version of a smile they hadn’t seen for a hell of a lot longer than five years and told all the wary faces, 

“Great, we’ll see you tomorrow morning for breakfast.” 

No one protested or stopped them, watching silently as Bucky dropped Steve’s hand and slowly turned around, waited for Steve to do the same. Patiently, holding his breath in case Steve decided to go off now that Bucky wasn’t holding his hand anymore which was a ridiculous fucking thought but Steve had a hair trigger temper and it was a pretty high stake situation. 

Thankfully, he didn’t leap forward to throw any punches. Instead he just spun pissily on one heel, storming off for the staircase and Bucky didn’t look behind them once, following after Steve with his heart in his throat and his hand curling against the cold. 

The crash of the door behind them as heavy thudding shoes took the stairs down two at a time was the same as all the other times it’d slammed. 

Like the first time Steve’d ever told him _I love you_ , chased Bucky all the way from their floor to the basement garage around these exact stairs, catching up to him just in time to beg him to stay until they were shouting at each other and Steve just screamed it at the top of his lungs -- _Because I love you, love you, love you_ \-- echoing around the empty garage as Bucky stared at him with wide eyes six years younger than they were now. 

He wondered distantly if it was the same memory Steve was running through his head as he ran down the stairs, all the way from top to 10. Racing down in circles, circles, circles they deserved more than to dance in now. 

They’d gotten out, they’d gotten to be together, that wasn’t _over_. 

He just had to remember that. They both did, because it sure as hell looked like Steve wasn’t remembering that part at all. Based on the way he shoved open the tenth floor door - he’d stopped there once, knocked on it like an idiot with a bouquet of flowers in his hands and eyebrows knit, raised hopefully in the center as he held them out to Bucky’s disbelieving face - no preamble or pause, just another crashing reinforced door as he barreled into the apartment that used to be their world. 

Yeah, he needed to cool that wild temper right the hell now. 

“Bathroom,” Bucky ordered softly and Steve headed straight there, chin high and eyes straight ahead like that would fix a damn thing. 

He had a feeling the cold water splashing over that pretty face wasn’t gonna fix anything either, but Bucky waited with his shoulder propped against the doorway anyways, one eyebrow raising slightly as Steve washed his hands twice. He only ever did that after the nightmares of the bloody war missions from Before. 

Before this place too, they’d actually only been here...for about a year. Less than a year, actually. It felt like a goddamn lifetime though, with how much had happened in that year. Singularly the most condensed, monumental year of his life. The five in Ireland since had been like. A month’s worth of the drama they’d had in this damn place. 

Eventually Steve scooted over, rubbing the towel over his hands and between his fingers while Bucky took a turn, leaning over the sink to splash cold water on his face too. The moment he bent all the blood rushed to his head, equilibrium shot to hell but Bucky just placed a palm on porcelain and ignored it. It could be a lot of things. 

Like the time he’d crashed laughing into this bathroom only to watch his own smile melt off his face, fingertips on the mirror as his world came tumbling down around him, dark and terrified sinking into his bones--

Bucky reached over and took Steve’s hand again without looking at him, pulling him out of the bathroom and cutting straight for Steve's old bedroom. 

All the doors in this hallway: his and Sam’s old rooms, the art studio. Fuck. That art studio. 

The doorknob to the last room in the hall was heavy but it turned under his hand anyway and he’d chosen this one because for all the bad memories in this place, most all of the good ones happened in here, so. Better this bed than the floor he’d broken Steve’s bones on. 

It was kinda trippy how quickly the door opened, how easy he pulled Steve in behind him, or maybe it was Steve's old room tipping woozy at the corners from the drugs his system just wasn’t shaking. Fuck, why couldn’t he get over that? Steve was perfectly fine. 

Actually. Steve was all pent up energy and misery, which made the woozy that much more inconvenient. His boy needed him, needed to _breathe_ and Bucky’d just have to suck up the dizziness until Steve got a handle on all this. 

He let go of Steve’s hand to carefully, quietly shut the door behind him and by the time he turned back around Steve was halfway across the room, already pacing. 

And they were officially back. 

It'd changed in here. But not like Steve had. Nothing like Steve had. Tonight, though, it was just another room. It was too much to sleep in here and look at these walls with any other eyes. 

They were gonna actively ignore that they were in this mess, in what that meant. If it were up to him, he'd bargain one more night with the two of them before the wild hell could latch onto their ankles. 

Brown boots were busy wearing treadmarks in the carpet, back and forth back and forth as Bucky absently checked the corners for cameras. It wasn’t the paranoia he used to have, or else he'd already know where they were, and all the escape routes too. 

It didn't look like there were any cameras in here and Bucky wasn’t sure whether he should be grateful or more cautious. 

For lack of a better solution, he wandered over to prop on the edge of the bed, watching the restless boy for awhile. Steve eventually paced himself to the window and stared out it with his foot tapping. And tapping. 

“They were just looking out for us,” Bucky started, getting up from the bed to slowly make his way to the glass, words careful but Steve already knew this speech was coming sometime. “The drugs were for the safety of everybody on that flight. So they’re working off old intel, it’s not their fault they don’t know we don’t do that anymo--”

But it really wasn’t about the drugs and apparently Steve couldn’t hear it right now. 

“I can’t just let something like this go, Buck.” Two strong arms crossed over that built chest as Steve turned to him with the most painful, horrendous look he’d given in what felt like years. “How could they -- how could _Sam_ \--”

Yeah, that’s what Bucky’d thought this was about. Even when they’d split to Ireland, Sam’d still, in some distant, knowing way, still been on their side. At least. They’d both told themselves that, because it was _Sam Wilson_ , he was the most loyal person Steve’d ever had in his entire life. 

Including Bucky. That was one place he’d never come close to competing with Wilson. He’d never had the chance, to stay that loyal when he loved Steve so goddamn much it’d ripped them both up plenty of goddamn times. 

It was as much for him as it was for Steve, sliding a solid arm around those wide shoulders. Steve didn’t tip into him easy like he was supposed to. So Bucky nodded shallowly, let go of the hold with his fingers left to trail over the top of that pretty spine as he stepped around to Steve’s side, finger on the edge of the window to slide down the high-tech dial, settling all the glass to dim black, closing out the light like curtains. 

Their reflections stared back in the black and he watched Steve’s reflection turn to look at him before he turned too, met those searching blue eyes. And took that callused hand in his own, one step backwards, two steps, three, as he slowly carefully pulled Steve for the bed. 

“Bucky,” he started, low in his throat and Bucky didn't stop him, because Steve was expecting him to but he needed to know what was going on inside that fragile July mind. If they believed in star signs, Steve was a Cancer, supposed to be a crier, and he never let himself so much as tear up if he could help it. It damn near broke Bucky’s heart, that’s what.

“ _Bu-cky_ ,” he tried again, and that was enough of that. Bucky pulled him close, one hand wrapping behind Steve’s head as the cold nose tucked against his neck, metal arm barring those broad shoulders as Steve wrapped clinging long limbs and let Bucky rock them lightly, clutching each other in the middle of the floor. Steve dug his fingers in and Bucky exhaled against that pounding temple, eyes slipping closed as he breathed in the smell of dirty blonde hair.

The body in his arms was taut with stress - _already_ , they didn't even have the mission yet and Bucky just wanted back the beautiful free smile Steve’d had yesterday morning, an entire lifetime ago. 

The pattering heart against his sternum was beating wild, twice the speed of Bucky’s but that was alright, he could wait Steve out, waited until the arms squeezing him softened into a cradle, until their hearts lined back up and the pulled-string muscles softened just the slightest of slack. 

But that was all he needed, senses sharp with his eyes closed, blonde tickling his cheekbones, the tip of his nose as Bucky pressed his mouth to Steve’s ear, chilled skin warming with the slow breath between dragging parted lips. 

“I love you,” he whispered low and Steve inhaled sharp and fast, all but gasping against Bucky’s collarbone like he could fill his lungs with it if he breathed in hard enough. 

After everything they’d been through. Was it still so goddamn shocking? 

He pulled back, easing his grip down Steve’s arms as he looked him over, knit in concern as he studied the overwhelmed pretty face, the clean skin that hadn’t been mottled in bruises or dark sleepless eyes for so so long. That wasn’t what coming back here meant. They could do this without all that. 

Fingers weaved between Steve’s white-knuckled ones and Bucky stepped backwards, tugging that golden heart for the bed. He came easy, crawled up on the mattress right after Bucky, free hand reaching up to take his face, blue searching between his before slipping shut, worried mouth pressing him right into the pillows. 

Bucky kissed him back, hard and sincere, kicking up one knee to push Steve’s hip and roll them, holding down the shoulders that were begging to be Atlas all over again, head spinning as Steve rolled up against his body, two hands shoving in Bucky’s long hair. 

The drag of Steve’s fingertips on his scalp was heavy enough to press the pressure right up behind his eyes, and that damn headache _still_ wasn’t going away. He ignored it, tongue slipping in beside Steve’s and focusing on the rush of tingles that slid down his spine, rushing--

straight back up to his brain, dizzy knocking his equilibrium right off its platform and tumbling in a spiral down the dark, unanchored abyss and _fuck_. 

Okay, Steve was acting pretty okay and Bucky was so dizzy he couldn’t tell which way was down, so clearly, their dosages must’ve been switched. He got the one to knock out Steve which usually wouldn't be a problem. 

Except that his serum didn't have the strength Steve’s did and Stark knew that, so if Bucky got the heavy dose and Steve got the light one meant for him no wonder Bucky was losing it and Steve was fine. 

If he flat out admitted it, Steve would blow off a gasket with worry but. Things were better when they didn't hide from each other either. If they’d learned a goddamn thing from last time. 

They never lied in Ireland. Then again, Bucky didn't have drugs in his system to lie about.

Steve’s fingers had dragged down the back of his neck to start stripping them both and Bucky could either grab his hands and stop him or. Unbutton Steve’s jeans. 

The button was cold against his fingers and he focused on that, blinking a few times to try to clear the haze at the corners of his tipping vision. Warm, smooth skin as he pushed rough material down Steve’s thighs, nearly falling sideways as he leaned back and tugged them off over ankles, tossed for the floor to join their shirts. 

One steadying breath sucked in between trembling lips as he let the veil of hair in his face hide pinched-shut eyes from Steve, wrestling his own jeans off and somehow managing not to crash off the bed, then he threw those aside too and didn’t have to worry about a single thing because suddenly Steve was kissing him again, open-mouthed and hot. Hands chasing over bare skin with the same frantic energy from the legs that’d been pacing madly five minutes ago, running agitated up his hips now, teeth tugging and fingers digging bruises already. 

Their lips broke off with an audible sound and a breathy protest as Steve didn’t so much as inhale before he tried crashing their mouths together again. All Bucky could think about was the sharp inhale when he’d told Steve he loved him, how goddamn broken the hands on his body were now and how quick they were to throw it aside under the guise of touch instead. 

_Maybe we talk even less now that we can kiss to shut the other up._

“Hey hey,” Bucky soothed, lifting his head out of reach from the desperate fire lips. Steve just clenched his abs and chased higher, only for Bucky to sit up all the way, closing his eyes as quick as he could against the rush of blood to his stupid fucking pounding head. 

The frustrated sound Steve made as he flopped back to the pillow told him the exact confused face he was gonna have on the moment Bucky straightened his head enough to open his eyes. Yep, that overwrought turmoil was painted all over those pretty features that kept blurring in and out of focus. 

It was kinda remarkable he’d held it together long enough to carry them through that first confrontation with their old team, but there’d been a lot on the line and a lot of adrenaline in his system. That and he hadn’t shot his balance to hell by hovering over Steve’s pounding heart. 

A sucked in breath as he steadied himself with a palm on the center of Steve’s bare chest, knees on either side of that tapered waist, swaying a little as the world spun sideways. Alright, that was enough of that. 

“Can we just...hold, tonight?” The question was breathy, a little desperate, and the instant shift of emotions on Steve’s face was about the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

All the frustration smoothed out into soft understanding, deep affection as the crease between eyebrows deepened, artist fingers wrapping hard over the bone of his hip.

His heart was still pounding too fast and he could feel in the grip against his skin that Steve wanted it, to forget in the harsh breathing and gripping hands but not tonight. Not like this. Even if he wasn’t dizzy to hell, they couldn’t shove it all aside before it even began. 

“Please,” Bucky added on quietly, swallowing to keep the guilt from rising up his throat. 

“Of course,” Steve whispered. The hand on his hip slid up his spine, pushing between shoulderblades to fold Bucky back over him, slide right back down to trace all the way to his tailbone, touch separated from his skin with a thin layer of gray cotton he didn’t mind so much when he could feel Steve’s warmth right through anyways. 

He did mind being folded in half, though. The addicting sweet of Steve’s mouth on his was about as heavenly as the pounding behind his eyes was hell. But the heat nibbling wasn’t enough to mask it, even when Steve was trying not to kiss him desperate and there was so much worry in that want.

And he wanted Steve too, he really did but the bed was spinning and he wasn’t sure how much more of that he could take before he puked up the breakfast he’d barely been able to eat. 

Something in his chest tightened awfully the moment their lips disconnected again, making everything pound even harder as he pressed his forehead hard to Steve’s collarbone. Eyes closed breathing fast but the golden skin wasn’t stopping the pain.

“Hey, are you okay? Bucky? What's wrong?” The worry was unmistakable, rumbling so loud with his temple pressed against the side of Steve’s throat, words sinking right into his skin to drill even harder against the waves.

“N-nothing, I.” He couldn’t manage much more than that and soothing hands smoothed down the back of his neck, drawing distracted designs into his shoulders. 

“You don't ever have to feel obligated for sex,” Steve started carefully and Bucky would snort if he wasn’t pretty sure it’d just make him that much dizzier. 

Instead he waved Steve’s worry off because it wasn’t about that. It was about...well. Might as well, at this point it was either tell him or lie and they’d done enough lying to last them a lifetime. 

“I know, I just. My head’s not doin’ so hot--” 

Cautious shot straight to distress and Bucky couldn’t hold back the quiet groan as Steve got both hands on his jaw and lifted his face up, searching Bucky’s gaze with that open hurt and he could just picture how fucking pale and shaky he had to look if he goddamn felt like this. 

“I just uh. I got your dosage, on the plane, and it's. It's still in my system--” 

See, he’d expected a little hurt, a sudden wave of protective swirled in with heartbroken sympathy because that’s what you expected out of the man you’d been married to for four years, but apparently he’d forgotten that when shit like this happened, the rings on their fingers went out the window and Steve reverted right back to that punk ass of a best friend he’d grown up beside. 

“What the _fuck_.” That pretty face flashed so pissed so fast Bucky’s head would be spinning if he _wasn’t_ drugged up. “Fuck, Bucky you can't do this shit to me. Do you understand? I get you're trying to do what's best, but we have to do this _together_ , if we do it at all.” 

He couldn’t say how Steve pushed them both upright but suddenly he was sitting, Steve’s knees caging in his hips and his big hands caging his face as Bucky forced himself to keep his shaky gaze on the burning blue one, tense words rattling over the waves.

“Together doesn't mean you stabbing a needle in my neck without my permission. Fuck, Bucky, what if they'd tried something worse? Tried to lock you up, or take you away from me? And I'd just be passed out unable to help you fight? You can't do shit like that to me, not anymore, not when we have so much to _lose._ ”

That was...fair. Really fair, actually. He hadn’t thought about that, about being taken away from Steve but god, it. It could’ve happened, it really could’ve. But it was the team, their team, they wouldn’t _dare_...would they? They’d left them in peace in Ireland for years, why would they pull them back into the firefight just to drag them away from each other again?

But Steve was holding his face and looking at him with all that righteous anger, the slight shine in his eyes betraying how terrified the emotions were bubbling just under the surface. 

Bucky couldn’t do anything but nod. Very seriously, apologetically nod, the unspoken promise vibrating between their chests and Steve let out a rushed breath, palms sliding down to cup his neck instead, finally softening into that touch of sympathy as Bucky closed his eyes against the spinning again and pressed the cool of his metal palm to his forehead.

“I’m gonna go get water,” Bucky managed and Steve’s hands smoothed down over his shoulders.

“Let me.” A hard kiss to Bucky’s temple, tipping him sideways to almost fall over, catching himself on the mattress just as Steve untangled their legs enough to hop lopsided off the bed and start for the kitchen.

He kept his eyes closed and told himself it was about the headache instead of the empty stare of that hallway as he pressed his bare spine to the wooden headboard that didn’t feel half as solid as it should. 

But the stillness helped, and by the time Steve was pressing a glass into his hand the rush wasn’t so bad, only pounded a little as he tipped his head back to drink.

Steve stood and watched, one hand on Bucky’s knee and worry furrowing sharp features. He reached over and took the empty glass before Bucky could so much as open his mouth. A deep inhale and the room wasn’t tipping so bad at the corners now.

“I'm…” Steady exhale and Bucky placed his hand over the one heavy on his skin. “...I'm okay now. I mean, I'm pretty used to your kisses making me dizzy anyways.” 

He glanced up with a hint of a smile and Steve rolled his eyes. 

“Shut up.” The smile widened and Bucky lifted one shoulder, scars tugging at the fuse of his metal arm.

“I mean it,” he said and Steve shook his head once, hesitating a moment to look over Bucky again until the second guess overruled whatever he was battling with and Steve leaned down, finger crooking sideways under Bucky's chin as he tipped his face up one more time to slide overlapping lips together.

That was all the opening he needed to pull Steve back down to the bed, let him roll them, carefully keeping Bucky on his back as their mouths slotted together and the curling tongue swirled this side of desperate again.

It took a few minutes and gentle stroking hands down ridged spine to ease it softer, to convince Steve’s heart to settle down from all that heavy emotion. A quiet pained sound against his lips and Bucky’s chest cracked a little, nosing Steve’s pretty face to the side to kiss up that clicking jaw, whisper against a stubborn ear, 

“I'm okay. We're both okay.” Muscle compressed over his ribs as Steve’s hands shoved under and wrapped him tighter like he really couldn’t believe it. Bucky had to lift his chin up to give Steve room that close. “Just. Trust me.” 

“I do,” Steve shot back, turning just enough for Bucky to reach over and press a kiss to that precious forehead. It didn’t smooth out the furrowed lines and Bucky fought the exasperated sigh on his tongue, dipping to catch the burning gaze and evaluate instead.

Steve wasn’t gonna let Bucky drag him outta all that pent-up worry. Fine. He knew Steve well enough to play dirty, he could turn it around. Steve could resist a lot of things, but saving Bucky from the shadows he’d left him to for so long wasn’t one of them.

“I just need to know you're here,” he murmured quietly and that was all it took. All the hard corners melted and Steve squeezed his waist gently, noses brushing as he tilted a degree and pressed their mouths back together, kissing Bucky deep, deep enough to curl his bare toes against the cold. It wasn't a lie, it wasn't anywhere near a lie.

(He was almost glad the drugs were still spinning his head, it gave him - gave them both - something to focus on that wasn't the bombardment of a hundred memories.) 

Slowly, Bucky convinced the kisses languid and soft again, the beat in his head settling down to the beat in his chest, the careful quiet rhythm of their mouths shifting and tilting against each other, his heart tugged right out from between his lips with the tip of Steve’s tongue.

All the gentle made it easy to keep close while he tugged Steve sideways to the mattress, both of them propped on their sides. Chests near flush as he slid a palm over strong curves and guided Steve’s thigh higher, wrapping hard muscle over his hip, bodies lining up warm and near bare.

The soft sound tumbling into his mouth made Bucky draw back, smile crooking in one corner as he slipped his hand back up the vulnerable soft underneath of those bare thighs, watched Steve’s eyes slip closed, lips part around a low, content little moan.

Bucky pushed a steady leg up under his, a hard heated line to support the exposed white thigh hitched over his hip, knee resting on the upper inside of Steve’s other leg. Intimate and close. 

They laid there, long fingers clutching shoulderblades as Bucky just ran his open palm up and down Steve’s thigh, sweeping across all that milky pure skin, up to the edge of his briefs and back down to the crook of his knee, smoothing what serenity he could into sensitive nerves.

Every few strokes were pulling quiet noises from Steve’s chest. Bucky watched the flickers across that beautiful face until the sounds shifted into quiet breaths and Bucky’s eyes closed with him. The quiet of the room settled over them like the sheets kicked to the end of the bed, nothing but the hushed in and out of Steve’s lungs. 

Bucky stroked and stroked and listened to him breathe, just listened until eventually Steve settled into it and the hard muscles went slack under his palm, melting that last surrender he’d been waiting for. 

He didn’t need to open his eyes to reach forward and kiss the lax eyelids, Steve’s long long lashes, taste of imaginary blue on his tongue as the arms circled ‘round tight relaxed into the sweet peace that always came much too brief for what his darling Steve deserved.

The sheets whispered all the things they hadn’t said as Bucky tugged familiar crisp oxford up over their entwined bodies, a shiver threading down Steve’s spine and gentle hands clinging just a little tighter. One more stroke up a smooth white thigh, all the way up over the curve of his ass to settle with fingertips on the dimples in Steve’s lower back.

Moments away from dark and Bucky scooted on the ~~couch cushion~~ pillow under their heads, mouth tipping forward to kiss Steve one more time, slow and sweet. Both of them were barely awake, exhaustion from the flight, drugs, stress and the weight of tomorrow all eased softer with the warmth he’d rubbed into precious skin. Slipped closer to the edge of sleep, lips clinging lax and sticky as the kiss slipped into overlapped mouths, breathing slow air into each other’s lungs. 

At some point Bucky fell asleep and Steve slowly eased away, gaze quiet and heavy on Bucky’s evened out features for just a moment before sinking into sleep right after him, their noses brushing and one last thought on his mind. 

If there were cameras in here after all, the Avengers would be seeing two boys they'd never had the chance to see before.

 

~*~*~

 

“Hey, did you pack toothpaste?” Bucky shouted, zipping his duffel closed. There was no reply, just the distant sound of running water so he sighed, set his bag on the ground and hauled up Steve’s. He did ask first. Not his fault Steve didn’t reply. 

Although it turned out Steve didn’t have toothpaste either. Hopefully Stark and his team of robots was as good at stocking things as they used to be. 

A wave of fog hit him smack in the face the moment he opened the bathroom door, wrinkling his nose at the humidity and the- wow, the entire mirror was too cloudy to see in. Great. 

“You do know it’s summer, right?” He shouted again, except Steve actually heard him over the sound of the water this time. 

“We don’t have to pay, I’m taking my showers as damn well hot as I please,” Steve shot back, then the shower curtain was pulling back and Bucky paused his rifling through the cabinets to raise an eyebrow at the dripping blonde hair and flush pretty smile. “Y’know, if you’d’ve gotten here earlier, you could’ve joined.” 

“It’s not my fault you wake up at an ungodly hour of the morning.” He gave Steve a pointed look and Steve made a face, shower curtain swinging back shut. That meant he had to lift his voice again, finally giving up on finding toothpaste and grabbing baking soda from the cabinet instead. Ol’ fashioned it was. “Did you go on a run?”

“You kidding? Face the wrath of the Avengers without you? I don’t think so.” The last sentence bounced around the bathroom as the water suddenly shut off, sass falling dead for the echoing reality of it. 

“It’s not gonna be that bad,” Bucky argued lightly, turning on the faucet with the back of his metal wrist. 

“Not gonna be that bad?” The towel whipped off the rack and he most definitely wasn’t watching Steve’s silhouette through the curtain as he dried himself off. “Bucky, they drugged us before they even saw us again, and the mission’s not _time sensitive_ , that doesn’t feel weird as hell to you? Or the fact that everything’s been stupid quiet since we got here? Or that Pepper’s not around? Or--”

“I get it,” Bucky interrupted, although it sounded like _I-gih-ih_ around the toothbrush in his mouth. “Bein’ pissed isn't changing anything.” 

“I am pissed though!” Steve swung back the shower curtain like the drama queen he was, and Bucky’s eyes cut down automatically. To a white towel wrapped around Steve’s waist. 

He sighed in disappointment and glanced back up to the pretty blues. Steve gave him a little smirk that he rolled his eyes at before leaning over to spit in the sink. 

“Really, I had no idea. You weren’t just ranting or anything.” 

“Buck, c’mon. Be serious. This shit doesn’t piss you off? How could _Sam Wilson_ , of all people, agree to this? It’s not fucking fair! The fuck did I ever do to deserve this shit?”

“You married me,” Bucky pointed out and Steve huffed, rubbing the other towel - Bucky’s - over his head to turn the pretty blonde wave into fluffy dandelion puff rebel spikes of softness. 

“It just amazes me, that we spent years fighting for justice, and freedom, and the _right thing_ \--”

“Here we go,” Bucky told the mirror, garbled around the toothbrush again and Steve ignored him, kept barreling on. 

“--and still, it’s us, the soldiers who’ve given more than our fair share, who gave our _lives_ , literally, to this cause that are the ones that are fucked over in the end! We finally get our happy ending and what do they do, they drag us and drug us right back into this shitshow like we’re pawns on a fucking chessboard--”

“Steve.”

“--playing their stupid little game when they knew, Sam _knew_ , we were done with that shit. I’m not Captain America anymore and you haven't been the Winter Soldier for a long goddamn time--” 

“Steve!” 

“ _What?_ ”

Bucky cupped a handful of water to his mouth, swishing and making Steve wait, cleaning toothbrush bristles while that impatient foot tapped before finally leaning over the sink to spit again, snagging the extra towel from Steve’s hands to wipe his face and give him a bright, but entirely serious, 

“Chill out.” 

“Chill _out_? The first thing Natasha fucking asked was if the _flight_ was fine--”

Bucky sighed exaggeratedly, staring up at the ceiling. They were never gonna be able to sit down and brief about this damn mission - let alone actually go fucking fight it - if Steve didn't take the righteous anger down like six notches. 

“Alright. C’mon.” The hand he grabbed and tugged came with him easy, even if Steve’s stupid mouth didn't close for one moment. 

“Not to mention that the last time we saw Natasha was after she'd spend four months letting me believe you were dead while you two gallivanted around Queens--”

“I literally had amnesia.”

“--I know, you asshole, I didn't forget a damn thing about Jimmy Rogers. But Natasha watched me go through all that misery, watched you go through all your confusion and loneliness and did _nothing_ , if anything she _made it happen_!”

The drag of the wooden chair shut Steve up for a single moment, then Bucky was shoving him down into it and Steve was right back to hammering off more pent-up grudges and disbelief while Bucky slowly circled around, Steve’s head turning to follow until he was directly behind the chair and before he could outright spin around and keep complaining, he dug his metal thumb into the back of Steve’s neck. 

The sound that drew out of him was downright delicious and Bucky smiled to himself, settling both hands on bare shoulders and squeezing hard enough to feel all the pent-up knots. 

“Mmm, and Sam spent all that time on the phone convincing…convincing me it was my. D-duty to come back. And I-I-- _fuck._ ” 

A little jolt and shiver as a knot above his shoulder released. He could see the pain rippling through simultaneously with the relief, the shudder of muscle as he shifted his grip and ground his fingers into built up tension again. 

“A-ah, you. Tryin’ to tame me? There are...better ways,” Steve breathed, head tipping back against the chair. A crooked smile quirked as Bucky peered over Steve’s shoulder at the already visible tent beneath the towel around his waist. 

“Looks like you're enjoying this way just fine.”

“Shut up,” Steve shot back but it was too breathy and heated to have an ounce of malice. Bucky dug his fingers in harder and Steve let out a little cry, spine arching in the chair as his head tipped to the side and well. With an invitation like that. 

He kneaded his thumbs further down Steve’s spine and replaced the empty curve of the muscle stretching down to damp shoulders with his teeth. 

Wow, if he thought the sound Steve made before was hot, that was nothing on this.

“ _Bu-_ cky, fuck--”

As much as he loved listening to Steve rant all the things they both knew Bucky already knew, Steve’s gold skin was bare and damp and shower-warm, clean and sweet under his mouth, he couldn’t help but bite a little harder and suck. 

The spine under his fingertips jerked with another tumbling sound, the kind that was a hell of a lot less pissed or righteous than it was groaning and longing. 

And fuck, he wanted Steve too, latching on and purpling his skin with all the fire and heat to prove it. Now that his head felt significantly better and wasn't trying to eat him alive, he got the chance to make up for everything he hadn't gotten to do last night and eat Steve alive instead. 

His lips broke off with a pop that was followed embarrassingly quickly with a broken groan. Pretty sure that sparking mind didn’t notice though, not when he was already mouthing up over the bruise. 

“Hmm, nothin’ to complain about now?” Bucky murmured against the soft spot under Steve’s ear, sucking lightly at the sensitive skin. 

Yeah, Steve didn’t reply, not with his open mouth anyways. The hand that shot up to grip tightly at Bucky’s hair was definitely answer enough. 

Stevie used to be a full body blusher when he was tiny and young, but even now with all the muscle and rippling golden skin, his chest was flush and dusted pink. Bucky couldn’t help running two hands down the sculpted lines, from sharp collarbones to hardened pecs and those mouthwatering abs, scraping his teeth along soft skin until another sound made him bite down. 

That shuddering ripple was apparently the last straw, cause the next thing he knew heavy hands were yanking him around the side of the chair, panting mouth chasing his own as Steve grabbed his hips hard and tried to drag him down into his lap. 

As great as that sounded, there were other priorities today besides riding Steve for an hour and considering that he still had clothes on, he aught to be the responsible one.

Metal fingers closed around the back of the chair, just barely keeping himself upright with the tight heartbeat Steve’s grip was radiating from his hipbones.

“Mmm, no, I’ve gotta go shower babe.” He gave his most regretful sideways smile but those blue eyes didn’t lessen an ounce of their heat, bottom lip catching between teeth as fingertips dug in a little more. _Fuck_. If the next words came out a little shaky it wasn’t his fault. “And you just showered, so you can’t join.”

“Aww, _c’mon_ , Buck, gimme somethin’,” Steve murmured and fuck, when he put it like that. It was a good thing he was confident in his strength, cause Steve was damn near flailing as the wooden chair tipped backwards on two feet. But all cares were shot the moment his mouth crushed Steve’s, kissing him filthy and hard enough he had to grip the wood tight to keep them both from crashing into the ground. 

Steve was gripping the chair tight too, whiteknuckling the sides while his legs wrapped around the back of Bucky’s knees, tugging him closer and yeah, okay, they were about to topple and this still wasn’t the plan for this morning. They were gonna miss breakfast if they kept that shit up.

By some power invested from all those years of torture and pain training, he somehow _somehow_ had the willpower to pull back, eyes shut tight as he tried to catch his breath, carefully lowered Steve’s chair back to all fours. 

The moment he blinked back open he regretted it, because Steve was staring up at him with pupils blown to hell and the hungriest look he’d seen in awhile, which said a fucking lot. 

“P-please,” Steve whimpered, just barely audible, debauched to hell, still all glowy from his shower and goddamnit, that wasn’t fucking fair. 

Bucky pushed a rough hand through fluffy blonde hair and that pretty face turned into his hand like he was starving for it. He should be used to it by now, but it still hit him deep every time he saw the built up emotions inside mirrored right on Steve’s face, a perfect copy of everything he’d felt behind the masks for so long and. 

Fuck breakfast. If they were gonna do this, they were doing it their way. Steve needed to keep that ridiculous temper in check, and so what if it didn’t fit in every else’s most convenient schedules, Bucky sure as hell knew how to calm him down. 

“Y’know,” he finally managed, all thoughtful and light like his heart wasn’t pounding as hard as his pulse and the bulge in his boxers. “You probably need to be relaxed for today, huh?”

Steve’s eyes were wide as he nodded innocently and way too quickly in agreement, damp lips parted in arousal. Alright. Fine. Steve was precious as hell and Bucky was as gone for him as he’d always been. Bucky tipped his head over his shoulder with a contemplative, crooked smile. 

“Well. I’m gonna go shower, and I _guess_ \--” Crystal twinkling with the fingers curled against the back of Steve’s neck, “...I wouldn't be too hung up about spending half of it on my knees.” 

Steve jumped up from the chair so fast he nearly knocked Bucky over, stumbling as he raced for the door and the towel around his waist came undone, slipping from slender hips to fall to the floor then it was just that beautiful bare ass as he took off down the hallway, skidding over wood floors, practically sprinting for the shower and the laugh tumbling out of Bucky’s mouth was so sudden and enthralled he had to take a second, hand shooting for the support of the chair to catch back the breath in his lungs. 

But that was a beautiful ass that was now waiting for him, impatiently knowing Steve, so. Bucky sucked in as much oxygen as he could and took off after him with a run that alright, fine, wasn't much slower at all. 

 

 

So they ended up missing breakfast. 

Someone left a post-it note on the wall by the elevator, message details for the meeting in the briefing room at ten. 

They were admittedly a lot slower and a hell of a lot less enthusiastic as they turned the corner for that meeting. 

__

__

The tension in this room was through the fucking roof. From the minute they walked in, distrustful side glances and calculating finger tapping and a lot of sizing up for a room full of people that had once upon a time fought together, lived together, played together, loved together as the only family some of them had ever known. 

Bucky studied the five foot gap between Romanoff and Barton’s shoulders and wondered when the hell that had ended. When the hell all of it had fallen apart. 

But he and Steve knew better than most, good things always come to an end. 

They weren't the last ones there, but even when Maria came in and locked the door behind her-- Bucky tapped Steve’s ankle with his toe to remind the bastard not to visibly tense up it was a fucking door lock they always locked the doors to briefings -- even with all the numbers and members piled in one little room, it was unmistakably empty. 

For being like. 5’6, it was pretty remarkable how much space Tony and his big pompous genius mouth took up. 

The Avengers without Iron Man really did not feel like the Avengers at all.

And Bucky couldn't help but wonder if the Avengers without Captain America had felt like the Avengers either. 

If they'd been missing his presence before or not, everyone sure as hell was feeling it now. 

Steve and his big broad green shoulders were taking up half the goddamn room. (It wasn't lost on him that Steve chose to wear one of four things in his closet that wasn't red white or blue.)

If all that piled condensed muscle wasn't enough, the way he held himself sure was drawing eyes, that unmistakable commanding presence he'd snapped back into like a pair of old shoes. Once an Army Captain always an Army Captain and Bucky just watched on quietly. 

He had no problems with Steve back in charge, although he did have to admit it was a little difficult to take the frown seriously when Steve was still glowing gold with that post-sex shimmer, limbs light and hair still fucked in those soft messy spikes, eyes bright every time they so much as glanced Bucky’s way. 

And sitting this close side by side, he had to roll his lips in on the smile because Steve smelled like Bucky’s shampoo. 

So that little put-on frown really wasn't doing much. 

But for everyone else it must've, they were all eyeing Steve with that same trepidation and fear as yesterday, a room full of wide eyes as Steve creaked back in his chair, drumming his fingers once on the glass table as that commander’s voice finally lifted to fill the empty waiting tension. 

“What's Stark gotten himself into this time?”

Clint and Sam relaxed visibly at the tone, at how obviously less tense Steve was from the fiery hissing he'd been at yesterday and Bucky couldn't help but smirk quietly, leaning back triumphantly in his chair. 

He knew exactly what bruises he'd sucked that anger right out through, exactly what fingertips had drained the tense knots in that pretty spine and exactly what words had dragged his boy from the ledge and now Steve was looking at them all relatively calmly, about as calm as he ever could get in tight-shirt flexing-crossed-arms battle mode.

It was what Bucky'd been doing his entire life, it'd be more surprising if he _couldn't_ calm Steve down this way too.

What he still couldn't figure out though, was what Stark could have gotten himself in that needed their expertise but wasn't time sensitive. 

“Tony’s…” Maria started, trailing off and looking over at Natasha. Nat barely acknowledged her, hair flipping over her shoulder and keeping her mouth shut. 

Okay, what the hell, weird.

“Rescue mission? What, did Hydra grab him?” Steve prodded, patience slipping just a little more as he glanced around the room at the twisted quiet faces. 

“He's…” More hesitation and all Bucky’s work was slipping out the window with their just-as-stubborn hellish ex-coworkers. He reached for Steve’s knee under the table but they still knew each other too well and he anticipated the move, sliding just out of Bucky’s reach before he could squeeze hard enough to ground that flighty temper. 

Then Maria finally turned to them with her no-shit attitude and opened her mouth and there was nothing Bucky could’ve done to prevent the fallout from those words. 

“He’s snapped.” 

It sunk in for him before it did for Steve. His eyes went wide but Rogers just blinked, looking at Maria like she'd spoken Romanian. 

One small hand lifted cautiously to clarify. “Mentally, Stark had a break--”

“Are you _kidding_ me.” It was dead flat and Bucky pushed off the table with his rolling chair to reach across the distance Steve’d shoved between them because he knew that tone.

It was too late, Steve popped to his feet before Bucky could get there, leaning over the table with a wild gesturing arm,

sending them right out the window and six feet under.

“You drugged us and flew us from Ireland, from the life we built, for _this?_ Because one of your _toy soldiers_ is broken?” Half the people in the room - including Bucky - cringed at the wording and Steve just slammed his chair under the table, throwing up a hand with one of those terrible awful bitter conceding smiles.

“Just when I thought maybe you’d all grown up and started acting like adults.” One sweeping glare around the room, a disbelieving shake of that pretty blonde head and Steve turned on a heel, started right back for the door. “C’mon Bucky. We're leaving.” 

The lock threw open with a violent click and Steve’s hand was on the doorhandle before he realized he didn't hear Bucky get up behind him. 

Because Bucky hadn't moved an inch. 

Steve and his bunched up pissed shoulders spun right back around. If he thought that face was surprised before. 

“Buck,” Steve reiterated, like he hadn't heard the first time or something. Bucky heard just fine.

“Steve,” he replied stubbornly, then he was turning, propping a forearm on the table and catching Natasha’s wide gaze, lifting a finger to make sure she knew he was talking to her. “Can you get me his medical reports?”

Natasha didn't even get the chance to open her mouth - although she was the only one who’s jaw wasn't basically on the ground at this point - before Steve was cutting in, loud as hell and bordering on that same righteous rage he'd aimed at everyone else in here. 

“You can't seriously be considering this.”

That warranted swiveling his chair back to the door, to that shocked blue, meeting the gaze steady, just as stubborn and calm as he'd been a moment ago. 

“I can, Steve. We can.” The two of them. Together. He was making that clear as hell but it wasn't enough, it was nowhere near enough. Steve let out a high-pitched huff and twisted into the most disbelieving look.

“They can’t ask this of us.” Incredulous, all that axiomatic shock and he had to work pretty hard to keep his expression smooth as Steve folded an angle at the hip and gestured wide over the room, this tower, exactly what they were being asked. “This isn’t fair! We have a life, Bucky, and it isn’t here.” 

The logic setting that stubborn mouth was sound but that wasn't everything. They did have a life in Ireland but that wasn't what counted. 

He lifted his chin in the same stubborn Steve had, just a dozen times softer.

“My life is wherever I’m with you.”

The aggrieved sound Steve made up at the ceiling might have been for the stubborn or maybe for the fact that the people they'd kicked out of their life were all sitting in this room watching all that vulnerability. 

The noise was followed pretty quickly by a shaking head, that powerstalk Bucky’d swear til his dying day he didn't teach him. 

The moment he reached Bucky’s chair he tilted it with a strong hand, angling them away from the silent watching faces, bending a touch and voice dropping quiet like that could possibly make this conversation even slightly private. 

“Yeah mine is too, but. This is too much to ask Buck. We got _out_.” It was almost a plea and Steve’s pretty blues were swimming with all that history, all the past they'd never really been able to leave behind. 

He met that tumultuous gaze and held it as steadily as he could. 

Bucky knew they got out. He knew that. But he also knew this was their only chance at redemption. For both of them.

Somebody had to make the hard choice and their entire lives, it'd been Steve who had to, Steve who put it all on the line and gave the commanding order that either doomed or saved them all and Bucky wasn't gonna let that pretty head break anymore over all those life or death situations he spent nightmares thrashing over _what if I was wrong._

No, it was Bucky’s turn. His turn to take the fall if this went sideways; his turn to make the big decision and ask Steve to follow him into battle. 

If there was anything, after all this time, he owed Steve, it was that. The chance to not have to make the tough choice. This time, he was taking the hit. 

Bucky sucked in a breath, looked up at that impatient frustrated face and told him, quietly, the decision that’d either pull them out of the shadows they'd been hiding in or light them on fire in the heat of what they never could stand. 

“I’m staying here. With or without you, Steve.” 

The quiet inhale behind them was nothing compared to the snapping upright, look on Steve Rogers’ face. Or the shatter in his fucking chest as he stilled and stared down at Bucky sitting there confident and calm in that stupid spinny chair. 

“You don’t mean that,” he accused and Bucky lifted his chin, stolen challenge firing back. Eyebrows shot up, double-take at the expression and Steve realized in that very moment, that felt like much too much of a pivotal moment, he had no idea if Bucky meant it or not. 

If he ran for the plane right now, how long it’d be before Bucky followed. How many minutes hours days week months years centuries before Buck gave up and came home to him. 

Or maybe, Bucky’d follow him anywhere, a second and a half behind, but he knew this was the only way to make Steve stay. 

Was he really so confident in their ability to come back to each other that he’d put their relationship on the line? That he'd use their lives, their dedication, their eternal fiery burning love as a bargaining chip right now? Steve had no idea whether he should be awed or terrified. 

Courting death; he'd always been torn between awed or terrified. Bucky knew that.

Bucky knew _him_.

Goddammit. God damn him. 

He bunched up his fists and glared down at Bucky’s stupid waiting face, running a thousand scenarios through his head and unable to decide on a single one because frankly what the fuck was he _doing._

Since when did Bucky give him ultimatums? Since when did they ever fucking make decisions for each other without discussing them? Since when did Bucky put his foot down and flat out tell Steve no? 

He didn't trust nearly all of the people in this room. He didn't trust the Avengers, or Tony, or whatever the hell scheme was going on, but. 

The only thing he did trust was Bucky, and he was dead fucking set in this. 

He’d told Steve, _No, not without you_ , and now he literally just said the exact fucking opposite. Because...he honestly believed Steve would stay. That would be the only reason he'd pull some shit like this -- 

if he _knew_ exactly what Steve would do, which was put Bucky above motherfucking everything and stay no matter what he duel-signed them up for. 

Fuck Bucky Barnes.

And on the other hand, _fuck_ Bucky Barnes. 

Steve was a fucking goner. 

“Fine,” he conceded and the tiny quirk of those sinfully pink lips told him everything he needed to know. The little shit.

He knew it. He fucking knew it. All of it, right there on that just barely smug expression and he couldn't believe Bucky just used their _dedication_ as a fucking chip in the most fucked up poker game ever, but he did, and here they were, all spelled out on that pretty, sharp-angled face. 

Well, almost all. 

“But I’m not promising you a timeline, and if it gets to be too much and I need out, Bucky--” The smug look disappeared at the sudden serious coloring his tone, listening intently as Steve dropped to a squat right there beside the chair, head tipped and gaze lifted, fists uncurling to carefully, sincerely take Bucky’s hand in between his own. “...can I trust you to come with me?”

There was genuine question in there. 

Genuine question and if it weren't for the fingers wrapped over his pulse Bucky’d be terrified he'd crossed a line, some terrible line that made Steve question his love all over again. 

But Steve’s hands were wrapped in his and they still talked touch better than any other language and there was no use fretting when it was all there in the hard press of faithful fingertips.

Instead he simply leaned forward, free hand slipping behind all that worry, fingernails threading through the back of that rough blonde, laying the words heavy and hushed between them. 

“Of course, Stevie. Always.” 

The heart-painted reminder had barely left his lips before Bucky was tipping forward and pressed those lips to the center of that furrowed worried sincere forehead, a hard kiss holding Steve close for a beat and a half too long, same way he always had. Back to the days when they were kids and some scrap ended up bloodier than the last, all that emotion staining out through his mouth on squirmy Steve’s skin, the heated fever forehead that had him up pacing half the night away for fear of that forehead turning cold. 

It'd never turn cold again, not so long as Bucky was here at his side. No matter where they dragged him to, there was nothing that could ever make him leave there.

He was pretty sure Steve felt it too, the kiss melting frigid away from just the fingers loosening over their tangled hands. 

All that worry smoothed out under his tight lips and Bucky reluctantly eventually pulled away, a thumb tracing one of those sharp cheekbones and he was too busy fondly gazing to anticipate the curled knuckles colliding lightly with his ribs. 

“Asshole,” Steve muttered low and Bucky smiled at the petulant face, punch to the side he’d been pulling since they were seven. “You were playing me.”

“It worked,” he shrugged unapologetically, and Steve didn't need to know how much Bucky was taking on with that sudden decision to play him, all he had to do was come along. He came easy, palm clapping over a steady bicep to pull Steve back up to his feet.

“Now,” a head tipped over his shoulder and Steve’s heart was definitely treading light enough he could make the joke, squeeze a white-knuckled hand and offer that crooked smile Stevie never could resist. “You ready to follow your beloved spouse into the jaws of death?”

Not a single person had said one word during this exchange, staring openly at Steve like he was talking to ghosts, but he was too busy smiling like a fool up at Steve’s shaking head to notice. 

“Shut up,” Steve told him and then he was pulling Bucky outta his chair into a sweeping, toe-curling kiss, mumbling a quiet _I hate you_ against his tongue that had Bucky giggling into his mouth, company and tension and everything else be damned. 

That punk kid from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away with the fighter.

_I’m followin’ him._

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna be one hell of a wild ride. And I'm saying it now, even tho I've said it and broke it a hundred times, I really do plan for this not to end up as a 731k monster but apparently I don't know how not to either. 
> 
> Come [talk to me](http://blackbannersraised.tumblr.com/) about how you're feeling, or just to scream in general. ily friends xx


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